UC-NRLF 


\sm  11 

a. 

AN 

AMERICAN  HOBO 

IN  EUROPE 


BY 
WINDY  BILL 


A    TRUE    NARRATIVE    OF    THE 

ADVENTURES    OF   A    POOR 

AMERICAN  AT  HOME 

AND  IN  THE  OLD 

COUNTRY 


PUBLISHED  BY 
THE  CALKINS  PUBLISHING  HOUSE 

24  Clay  St.  San  Franc  uco 


IN  PAPER  50  CENTS 


CLOTH  $1.50 


AN 

AMERICAN  HOBO 

IN  EUROPE 


"v\   k*  *> 


By  WINDY  BILL 


A    TRUE    NARRATIVE  OF    THE    ADVENTURES 

OF  A  POOR  AMERICAN  AT  HOME 

AND  IN  THE  OLD  COUNTRY 


PRESS    OF   THE    CALKINS    PUBLISHING   HOUSE 
SAN  FRANCISCO,  CAL. 


Copyright  1907  by  B.  Goodkind 

- 


Contents 

Chapter.  Page. 

I.  Billy  and  Me  1 

II.  Frisco    41 

III.  The  Journey  Overland 85 

IV.  New  York  City  130 

V.  Them  Bloomin '  Publishers 139 

VI.  The  Ocean  Voyage 148 

VII.  The  Steerage    156 

*    VIII.     Glasgow 171 

IX.  Getting  a  Square  Meal .181 

X.  The  Glasgow  Green   (or  Common) .  .188 

XI.  Hunting  for  a  Furnished  Room 193 

XII.  Dancing  in  the  Green 202 

XIII.  Taking  in  a  Glasgow  Show 214 

XIV.  Robert  Burns,  the  Poet. 224 

XV.  Sir  Walter  Scott  276 

858581 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

Microsoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/americanhoboineuOOgoodrich 


CHAPTER  I. 
BILLY  AND  ME. 

Stranger,  will  you  please  permit  me 
to  give  you  an  introduction  to  a  particu- 
lar friend  of  mine,  little  Billy.  Little 
Billy  and  I  had  long  been  friends  and 
had  become  so  intimate  that  we  were 
more  like  brothers  than  friends.  Some 
brothers  indeed  do  not  stick  to  each 
other  as  closely  as  Billy  and  I  did  for 
w.e  never  quarreled  and  the  worst  that 
ever  happened  between  us  was  a  little 
growl  which  we  soon  got  over. 

Billy  and  I  had  been  on  the  bum  to- 
gether a  long  while  and  had  prospected 
for  gold  and  other  things  in  Utah,  Ne- 
vada and  California.  The  adventures 
we  had  if  I  were  to  relate  them  would 
fill  several  such  volumes  as  this.  And 
many  of  them  were  worth  relating,  too, 
but  I  will  merely  give  a  general  outline 


of  our  experiences,  for  his  experiences 

were  mostly  mine. 

•9::\   WJijfe  .hiking  it  along  the  railroad 

:"'*6ne-day:bfetWeen  Ogden  and  Salt  Lake 

;;;^|t-^/JfhicMs  a';distance  of  about  thirty- 

"#§eVeh  Hiilfesj'we  ran  across  a  couple  of 

pretty  Mormon  girls  about  half  a  mile 

from  town  and  they  made  goo-goo  eyes 

at  us.     Billy,  who  is  rather    reserved 

with  strangers,  was  for  moving  on,  but 

I,  who  am  a  friendly  and  sociable  cuss, 

was  in  for  having  a  little  time  with 

them. 

"What's  the  harm,  Billy?"  said  I  to 
my  chum;  "let's  see  what  kind  of  stuff 
the  girls  are  made  of. 

"Oh,  what's  the  use,  Windy,"  re- 
sponded Billy;  "we  might  get  into 
trouble." 

"Trouble  be  blowed,"  said  I;  "they 
ain't  agoing  to  make  any  trouble  so  why 
should  we.  Let's  see  what  their  game  is 
an  v  way." 

We  approached  the  ladies,  tipped  our 
hats,  and  passed  the  compliments  of  the 
day.  They  responded  pleasantly 
enough,  entered  into  a  conversation 
with  us  and  soon  we  all  strolled  fur- 


ther  on  from  the  town  and  sat  down  on 
a  viaduct  spanning  a  rushing  irrigation 
ditch.  Billy  was  as  chipper  as  anyone 
when  once  he  got  started  and  held  his 
end  down  in  the  conversation  first  class. 
The  girls  were  merry  and  talkative  and 
seemed  to  like  to  talk  to  the  fellers. 
They  told  us  all  about  the  Mormons, 
how  they  live,  act,  and  what  they  do, 
and  Billy  wanted  to  know  how  Mormons 
got  married. 

"Why  don't  you  get  married  and  find 
out?"  asked  one  of  the  girls. 

"I  ain't  no  Mormon,"  spoke  up  Billy. 

"You  can  be  if  you  want  to,"  says 
the  girl,  "religion  is  free." 

"All  right,"  says  Billy,  'Til  think  it 
over." 

The  girls  were  giving  us  a  game  I 
thought,  but  we  could  stand  it  if  they 
could.  We  chinned  away  there  for 
hours  until  it  began  to  grow  late,  when 
the  girls  concluded  they  would  have  to 
go.  We  were  sorry  to  part  from  such 
elegant  company  but  it  was  a  case  of 
have  to. 

After  they  had  gone  we  wondered 
what  their  little  game  was,  whether  it 


was  merely  a  case  of  flirtation  or 
whether  they  were  looking  for  converts 
to  their  religion.  Billy  put  the  question 
to  me  and  I  told  him  he  could  search 
me;  I  didn't  know.  Anyway,  neither  of 
us  wanted  to  get  married  just  then,  so 
after  the  girls  left  us  we  troubled  our 
heads  no  more  about  them. 

We  stopped  in  Ogden,  Utah,  a  few 
days,  and  then  beat  our  way  to  Virginia 
City,  Nevada,  where  we  did  some  labor- 
ing work  at  the  old  Bonanza  mines. 
Neither  of  us  were  miners,  although  we 
had  prospected  some  without  results. 
We  found  the  miners  to  be  a  good-hearted 
set  of  fellows  and  liked  to  be  among 
them.  Grub  and  booze  could  be  had  for 
the  asking  in  Virginia  City  when  we 
were  broke,  but  handouts  were  more 
plentiful  than  work.  Not  many  stran- 
gers wander  to  Virginia  City  these  days, 
for  the  town  is  off  the  main  line  and 
no  bums  visit  it.  It  is  on  the  decay 
order.  Its  streets  are  in  ruins,  ditto  the 
sidewalks  and  houses,  and  over  the 
whole  place  there  is  a  musty  odor.  It 
is  away  high  up  in  the  air  about  eight 
thousand  feet  above  sea  level  and  the 


wealth  that  once  was  brought  up  from 
several  thousand  feet  below  the  surface 
amounted  to  billions,  not  millions  of  dol- 
lars. Today  the  big  mill  houses  still 
stand  in  their  usual  place  in  good  order 
but  little  mining  is  done  there. 

Some  of  the  big  plants,  such  as  the 
Ophir,  Savage,  Norcross  and  Hale,  Con- 
solidated Virginia  and  Best  &  Belcher 
are  still  there,  but  where  there  were  a 
thousand  miners  working  before  there 
are  not  ten  working  today.  The  place 
is  strictly  on  the  bum,  just  like  me  and 
my  little  pardner.  Once  there  were 
forty  or  fifty  thousand  people  in  Vir- 
ginia City,  but  today  there  are  not  five 
thousand,  or  anyways  near  that  num- 
ber and  the  ruins  and  scenes  of  desola- 
tion make  a  fellow  feel  sad.  The  old 
International  Hotel  where  the  nobs 
used  to  stop  and  spent  a  fortune  every 
day,  is  now  run  by  a  Chinaman  at  a 
cheap  rate.  There  is  plenty  of  fine  scen- 
ery around  Virginia  City,  however,  and 
plenty  of  Piute  Indians,  but  the  Piutes 
don't  enhance  the  scenery  any.  They 
are  a  dirty  crowd  and  sit  around  on 
decaying    lumber    piles    and  hillsides 


within  the  town,  playing  cards  and 
other  gambling  games.  The  miners  are 
mostly  Cornishmen,  Englishmen  from 
Cornwall,  England,  and  as  Billy  is  Eng- 
lish he  took  to  them  very  readily. 

Carson  was  our  next  stopping  place 
and  we  found  it  to  be  a  nice  little  town. 
It  isn't  far  from  Virginia  City  and  is 
the  capital  of  Nevada.  It  contains  a  few 
thousand  people,  lots  of  tall  poplar  trees 
which  stand  along  the  streets,  sage- 
brush and  alkali  covered  hills  and 
plains,  a  large  stone  railroad  round- 
house, the  State  Capitol  building  (which 
is  enclosed  in  a  park  several  acres  in 
extent),  a  U.  S.  mint  and  that's  about 
all.  No  work  to  speak  of  is  going  on 
around  there  and  as  Billy  and  me  could 
not  get  anything  to  do  we  lived  on  hand- 
outs mostly.  One  evening  we  saw  a 
hen  wandering  about  rather  aimlessly, 
so  to  put  her  out  of  misery  we  caught 
her,  wrung  her  neck  and  took  her  out 
of  town  where  we  roasted  her  over  a 
slow  fire.  We  rubbed  her  while  she  was 
cooking  with  a  little  sage  to  make  us 
think  of  Christmas  and  devoured  her  by 
starlight    Bill  said  she  reminded  him 


of  home  and  felt  kind  of  blue  for  a  few 
moments.  But  he  munched  away  and 
soon  cheered  up. 

It  may  be  the  proper  thing  here  to 
give  a  short  description  of  Billy. 

Billy  was  a  little  fellow,  about  five 
foot  two,  and  was  a  Britisher,  a  native 
of  the  city  of  York,  in  Yorkshire,  after 
which  New  York  is  named.  He  was 
what  you  might  call  a  strawberry 
blonde,  for  he  had  light  hair  and  a  mous- 
tache that  was  halfway  between  golden 
and  red.  It  wasn't  one  of  your  strag- 
gly kind  of  moustaches  with  big  hairs 
sticking  out  all  over  it,  but  small,  neat 
and  compact  with  just  the  cutest  little 
turned  up  spit-curls  at  each  end  of  it 
you  ever  saw.  Maybe  Billy  wasn't 
proud  of  that  moustache !  He  was  dead 
stuck  on  it  and  was  nearly  always  fuss- 
ing with  it  and  fondling  it.  Quite  often 
he  trimmed  it  with  the  aid  of  a  little 
looking  glass  which  he  carried  in  his  kit. 
Whenever  the  kit  was  unrolled  Billy  got 
the  glass  and  admired  himself  with  it. 
And  yet  I  can't  say  the  little  cuss  was 
vain,  for  whenever  he  met  females  he 
seemed  indifferent  to  their  charms  and 


8 


looked  another  way.  His  eyes  were  blue 
and  his  hands  and  feet  small.  Taken  all 
together  he  wasn't  a  bad  looking  chap. 
Billy  had  some  folks  in  the  old  country, 
a  mother  and  two  sisters  but  no  father 
or  brothers,  and  they  lived  in  old  York. 
Billy  was  born  and  raised  in  York  and 
at  a  very  early  age  was  apprenticed  to 
a  harness-maker.  His  folks  probably 
thought  that  the  sooner  he  got  out  and 
rustled  the  better  for  himself  and  all 
concerned.  Apprentices  don't  get  much 
in  old  England,  Billy  told  me,  and  have 
to  serve  long  years  at  their  trade  before 
they  can  become  a  journeyman.  Billy 
worked  seven  or  eight  years  for  his 
clothes  and  board  and  an  occasional 
ha-'penny  with  which  he  bought  a  meat 
pie  or  lollipops. 

One  day  the  idea  struck  him  that  he 
wasn't  getting  rich  very  fast.  He  had 
been  working  a  long  time  and  hadn't  a 
bean  to  show  for  it,  so  he  began  to  grow 
dissatisfied.  He  had  heard  some  tales 
of  how  easy  it  is  to  get  rich  in  America 
and  he  thought  that  it  might  be  a  good 
thing  if  he  went  there.  His  mother  and 
sisters  didn't  agree  with  his  notions  but 


Billy  didn't  seem  to  care  for  that.  He 
just  laid  low  for  awhile  and  said  noth- 
ing. But  the  more  he  thought  things 
over  the  more  dissatisfied  he  became  and 
the  more  determined  to  flit.  He  slept 
in  the  back  room  of  his  boss's  shop  and 
had  to  arise  early  every  morning  to  take 
down  the  shutters,  sweep  out,  dust  off, 
and  get  things  in  shape  generally  for 
business. 

One  day  the  boss  came  down  and 
found  the  shutters  still  up,  the  place 
unswept  and  no  Billy.  The  boss  prob- 
ably wondered  where  little  Billy  was  but 
he  had  to  take  it  out  in  wondering,  for 
Billy  had  flown  the  coop  and  was  over 
the  hills  and  far  away  on  his  way  to 
London.  The  boss  went  to  Billy's  folks 
and  asked  them  if  they  knew  where 
Billy  was,  but  they  told  him  he  could 
search  them.  They  didn't  know  any- 
thing about  Billy.  The  boss  probably 
did  some  pretty  tall  cussing  just  then 
and  made  up  his  mind  that  something 
would  happen  to  Billy  when  he  turned 
up,  but  he  never  did  turn  up  and  never 
will  until  he  (Billy)  gets  rich.  Then 
he'll  go  back  to  visit  his  folks  and  set- 


10 


tie  with  his  master,  he  told  me.  Billy 
says  the  boss  don't  owe  him  any  money 
and  he  don't  owe  the  boss  any,  so  it's  a 
standoff  financially  between  them;  but 
Billy  owes  him  a  few  years  of  service 
which  he  says  he  is  willing  to  put  in  if 
the  boss  can  catch  him.  Billy  says  he 
had  a  hard  time  of  it  in  London  and 
found  it  difficult  to  secure  passage  to 
this  country.  Finally,  after  many 
heart-breaking  experiences  he  secured  a 
job  as  steward  on  an  ocean  liner  by  a 
fluke,  merely  because  another  chap  who 
had  previously  been  engaged  failed  to 
show  up.  Billy  was  in  luck,  he  thought. 
He  landed  in  New  York  with  a  little  tip- 
money,  for  the  steamship  company 
would  pay  him  no  wages  unless  he  made 
the  round  trip  according  to  an  agree- 
ment previously  made  in  London  and 
with  this  small  sum  of  money  he  man- 
aged to  live  until  he  found  work.  He 
secured  a  job  as  dishwasher  in  a  res- 
taurant and  received  five  dollars  a  week 
arid  his  chuck  as  wages.  Out  of  this  big 
sum  he  paid  room  rent  and  managed  to 
save  a  little  money  which  he  sent  home 
to  his  mother.    Compared  with  what  he 


11 


had  been  getting  in  the  old  country 
Billy  considered  that  he  was  on  the  road 
to  fortune  and  he  felt  elated.  He  held 
down  his  job  for  some  months  but  got 
into  a  difficulty  one  day  with  his  boss 
over  something  or  other  and  got  fired. 
He  took  his  discharge  much  to  heart  and 
concluded  to  leave  New  York.  He  made 
his  way  to  Philadelphia,  about  one  hun- 
dred miles  west,  and  there  secured  work 
in  a  small  restaurant  as  a  hashslinger. 
When  he  left  this  place  because  of  a  lit- 
tle argument  with  another  waiter,  he 
concluded  to  go  out  West  where  he  was 
told  the  opportunities  were  great.  I  met 
him  in  a  camp  seated  at  a  fire  one  even- 
ing surrounded  by  a  lot  of  'bos  in 
Wyoming.  He  didn't  look  wealthy  just 
then.  We  scraped  up  an  acquaintance 
and  I  took  to  the  young  fellow  at  the 
first  go-off  as  I  saw  he  was  not  a  pro- 
fessional vag,  and  we  joined  forces  and 
have  been  together  ever  since. 

Our  trip  from  Carson  in  Nevada  over 
the  mountains  into  California  was  a  de- 
lightful one.  From  Carson  to  Reno  the 
scenery  is  no  great  shakes  (although  it 
was  over  hill  and  dale),  for  the  hills 


12 


Luked  lone  and  barren.  The  crops  had 
just  been  gathered  from  these  hills  arid 
dales.  The  leaves  were  turning  color  on 
the  trees  and  it  was  the  melancholy  sea- 
son of  the  year  when  nature  looks  blue. 
Me  and  Billy  weren't  melancholy,  how- 
ever, for  we  were  good  company  to  each 
other  and  never  felt  lonely.  At  Reno 
early  one  morning  we  crept  into  an  un- 
sealed boxcar  and  rode  upward  to  the 
high  Sierras.  The  scenery  when  day 
broke  was  so  fine  that  we  were  enchant- 
ed. No  barren  mountains  were  here 
and  no  sage-brush  covered  plains,  but 
well-timbered  mountains  whereon  grew 
trees  and  bushes  of  all  kinds.  To  us  it 
seemed  like  wakening  from  autumn  to 
spring.  Billy  and  me  couldn't  under- 
stand this.  A  few  miles  away  were 
leaves  that  were  turning  in  their  au- 
tumn tints  whilst  here  everything  was 
green  and  fresh  like  the  dawning  of  life. 
It  astonished  us  but  made  us  feel  good 
all  over.  We  were  both  as  happy  and 
joyous  as  if  we  were  millionaires.  Here 
was  a  beautiful  sheet  of  water  with  a 
big  paper-mill  near  it;  further  along 
was  a  little  railroad  station  entirely  sur- 


13 


rounded  by  hills.  Nothing  but  lofty 
mountains  towered  all  around  us,  with 
a  canyon  running  through  them,  along 
which  we  rode.  Ice-ponds  were  there 
with  no  ice  in  them  just  then,  for  it  was 
the  wrong  season  for  ice,  but  numerous 
huge  ice-houses  were  there,  which 
showed  us  what  the  ponds  were  for.  The 
iron  horse  wound  around  and  around 
these  lofty  mountains  and  the  keen, 
pure  air  made  us  feel  as  good  as  if  tve 
had  been  taking  a  nip.  We  sure  felt 
gay  and  happy  as  larks.  By-and-by  we 
reached  a  place  called  Truckee  which 
seemed  to  be  quite  a  town.  We  hopped 
off  to  reconnoiter  for  we  knew  the 
freight  train  would  be  there  some  little 
time,  and  noticed  that  there  was  only 
one  street  in  the  town,  which  contained 
several  stores,  a  butcher-shop  or  two, 
several  restaurants,  two  hotels  and  about 
a  dozen  or  more  saloons.  As  we  walked 
along  the  street  we  noticed  a  sign  over 
a  stairway  leading  into  a  cellar  which 
read,  "Benny's  Gray  Mule."  We  started 
to  go  down  the  steps  but  found  that 
"Benny's  Gray  Mule"  was  shut  up 
tight.    Too  bad !    A  saloon  with  such  a 


14 


romantic  name  as  that  ought  to  thrive. 
We  went  into  another  saloon  and  I  or- 
dered two  beers  and  threw  a  dime  upon 
the  counter  in  payment.  "Come  again," 
said  Mr.  Barkeep,  giving  me  an  evil 
glance.  I  hesitated.  "Another  dime, 
pardner,  all  drinks  are  ten  cents  here," 
says  barkeep.  "All  right,"  says  I, 
"don't  get  huffy;  I  didn't  know  the 
price."  I  laid  down  another  dime  and 
this  Mr.  Barkeep  swept  into  his  till 
nonchalantly. 

The  place  seemed  tough  and  so  did  the 
barkeeper.  Toward  the  rear  of  the  large 
room  was  a  lunch  counter  where  a 
square  meal  could  be  had  for  two  bits 
(25  cents) ,  or  coffee  and  hot  cakes  for  fif- 
teen cents;  sandwiches  for  a  dime  each ; 
a  piece  of  pie  and  coffee,  ten  cents.  In 
convenient  places  were  gambling  lay- 
outs where  a  fellow  could  shoot  craps, 
play  roulette  or  stud-horse  poker.  It 
was  too  early  in  the  day  for  gambling 
but  a  few  tough-looking  nuts  were  there 
sitting  around  and  waiting  for  a  chance 
to  try  their  luck.  We  saw  all  we  wanted 
of  this  place  and  sloped.  Truckee  is  the 
last  big  town  in  California  going  east- 


15 


ward,  and  it  is  a  lumber  camp,  railroad 
division  and  icing  station  (refrigerator 
cars  are  iced  there).  A  pretty  rough 
old  place  it  is.  Me  and  Billy  bought  a 
couple  of  loaves  of  bread  and  some 
cheese  and  then  made  tracks  for  our 
box-car.  We  found  it  all  right  and 
climbed  aboard.  Our  train  had  done  a 
lot  of  switching  at  Truckee  and  a  good 
many  cars  had  been  added  to  the  train. 
Two  big  engines  now  were  attached  to 
the  train  instead  of  one  and  soon  with 
a  "toot  toot"  we  were  off.  It  was  uphill 
all  the  way  and  the  locomotives  seemed 
to  be  having  a  hard  time  of  it  for  their 
coughs  were  loud  and  deep  and  the  hiss- 
ing of  steam  incessant.  To  Billy  and 
me  the  work  was  easy  for  all  we  had 
to  do  was  to  listen  to  the  laboring  en- 
gines and  look  out  at  the  pretty  scen- 
ery. The  scenery  was  fine  and  no  mis- 
take, for  the  higher  we  went  the  prettier 
it  got.  Mountains  we  saw  everywhere 
with  spruce,  fir,  pine  and  cedar  trees 
upon  them.  The  views  were  ever  chang- 
ing but  soon  we  came  to  a  lot  of  snow- 
sheds  that  partly  shut  off  the  views. 
They  must  have  been  a  hundred  miles  in 


16 


length,  for  it  took  us  an  awful  long  time 
to  get  through  them.  The  sheds  were 
huge  affairs  of  timber  built  over  the 
track  to  keep  off  the  snow  in  winter, 
and  I  felt  like  stopping  and  counting 
how  many  pieces  of  timber  were  in  each 
shed.  It  must  have  taken  a  forest  to 
build  these  sheds. 

Along  in  the  afternoon  we  began  to 
get  hungry,  so  we  jumped  off  at  a  place 
called  Dutch  Flat,  to  see  what  we  could 
scare  up  in  the  shape  of  a  handout.  The 
outlook  didn't  seem  promising  to  us  for 
all  we  could  see  of  Dutch  Flat  was  a  lot 
of  Chinese  shacks  strung  along  one  side 
of  the  railroad  track. 

"Billy,  I  guess  we're  up  against  it 
here,"  I  remarked;  "I  don't  see  any 
signs  of  a  white  man's  house  around. 
Where  can  we  get  anything  to  eat?" 

"Let's  try  the  Chinks;  we've  got  to 
have  something  to  eat,  you  know  ;^  we 
can't  starve,"  ruefully  responded  Billy. 

We  were  both  pretty  hungry  by  this 
time  for  the  bracing  mountain  air  had 
given  us  a  hearty  appetite. 

I  stepped  up  to  the  first  hut  we  came 
to,  rapped  at  the  door  and  when  a  chink 


1? 


opened  it  told  him  we  were  very  hungry 
and  would  like  something  to  eat. 

"No  sabee,"  says  the  chink,  slamming 
the  door.' 

I  tried  other  huts  with  the  same  re- 
sult. It  was  "no  sabee"  with  all  of 
them.  I  told  Billy  that  my  errand  was 
a  failure  and  his  jaw  dropped. 

"How  much  money  have  you  got, 
Billy?"  I  asked. 

Billy  dug  down  and  brought  up  a  lone 
nickel.  I  had  a  dime.  I  asked  Billy  to 
give  me  his  nickel  and  told  him  that  as 
we  couldn't  beg  any  grub  maybe  we 
might  be  able  to  buy  fifteen  cents'  worth 
of  something.  With  the  fifteen  cents 
I  strode  forth  to  try  my  luck  once  more. 

I  saw  a  very  old  Chinaman  in  front 
of  his  hut  and  asked  him  if  he  would 
sell  me  fifteen  cents  worth  of  grub. 

"No  gotee  anything;  only  law  (raw) 
meat  " 

"What  kind  of  meat?" 

"Pork  chop,"  answered  the  old  man, 
briefly. 

"All  right,  here's  fifteen  cents;  give 
me  some  meat." 

I  handed  him  the  money  and  he  went 


18 


inside  and  brought  out  two  fair  sized 
chops. 

"You  sabee  cookee?"  asked  the  aged 
celestial. 

"Heap  sabee,  you  bet;  me  cookee  be- 
fore," remarked  I. 

"All  lightee,"  said  the  celestial,  giv- 
ing me  a  little  salt  and  pepper. 

The  country  around  Dutch  Flat  was 
hilly  so  Billy  and  me  hunted  up  some 
secluded  spot  where  we  could  eat  our 
chops  in  peace  and  quietness.  We  built 
a  rousing  fire,  for  wood  around  there 
was  plentiful,  and  put  the  chops  upon 
long  sticks  which  we  hung  over  the  fire. 
The  grass  around  our  camp  was  pretty 
dry  and  the  first  thing  we  knew  the  fire 
began  to  spread  all  over  the  country. 
When  we  stamped  it  out  on  one  side  it 
made  good  headway  on  the  other  side, 
and  do  all  we  could  we  couldn't  stop  it. 
We  got  scared,  dropped  our  meat  and 
sloped.  It  wasn't  long  before  the  China- 
men saw  the  fire  and  then  there  was  a 
whole  lot  of  loud  talk  in  Chinese.  The 
whole  village  was  out  in  a  jiffy  with 
buckets,  pails,  empty  oil  cans  and  any 
old  thing  that  would  hold  water  and  at 


19 


it  they  went,  trying  to  put  out  the  fire. 
Not  a  few  of  the  Chinamen  procured 
wet  sacks  with  which  they  tried  to  beat 
out  the  flames,  but  it  was  no  go.  Me 
and  Billy  returned  and  grabbed  a  sack 
each,  wet  it  and  aided  all  we  could  in 
putting  out  the  fire,  but  it  had  gained 
too  much  headway  and  defied  us  all.  I 
concluded  that  it  was  going  to  burn 
down  all  the  Sierra  mountains  before  it 
got  through.  There  was  a  laundry  in 
the  Chinese  village  for  I  noticed  a  lot  of 
white  man's  underwear  and  white  shirts 
hanging  on  lines  to  dry,  and  nearby  was 
the  washerman's  horse  tethered  to  a 
stake.  When  the  horse  saw  and  smelt 
the  flames  he  became  frantic  and  was 
a  hard  horse  to  hold.  His  owner  ran  up 
and  yelled  and  shouted  at  him<in  Chinese 
but  the  horse  either  did  not  or  would 
not  understand  what  was  said  to  him  for 
he  tried  to  kick  the  stuffing  out  of  his 
boss  and  everything  else  that  came  near 
him.  He  kicked  down  every  wash  line 
that  he  could,  one  after  another,  and  did 
his  best  to  break  loose  from  his  halter, 
but  it  was  no  go.  He  wouldn't  let  his 
boss  get  anyway  near  him  for  his  heels 


20 


flew  in  every  direction  and  it  made  us 
laugh  to  hear  the  Chinamen  swear  in 
Chinese.  After  the  brute  kicked  down 
every  line  within  reach  of  his  heels  he 
finally  broke  loose  and  galloped  over  the 
hills  at  a  breakneck  pace.  For  all  that 
Billy  and  I  know  to  the  contrary  he  is 
galloping  yet.  Billy  and  me  concluded 
that  it  was  about  time  for  us  to  skip 
out,  too,  so  we  did  so.  We  had  done 
all  we  could  to  help  put  out  the  fire  and 
lost  our  grub  in  the  operation,  so  we  felt 
that  we  had  done  our  duty.  I  have  often 
thought  of  that  fire  since  and  wondered 
what  the  result  was,  whether  it  ended 
in  great  damage  to  the  country  and  the 
destruction  of  the  Chinese  village,  or 
whether  the  horse  had  ever  showed  up 
again.  There  is  no  rainfall  in  Califor- 
nia during  the  summer  months,  I  am 
told,  and  in  consequence  the  grass  and 
much  of  the  vegetation  dries  up  and  one 
has  to  be  very  careful  where  to  light  a 
fire.  We  didn't  know  that,  hence  the 
disaster. 

We  climbed  into  our  car  again,  and 
were  ready  to  move  on  whenever  the 
train  did.  We  lit  our  pipes,  indulged  in 


21 


a  smoke,  and  laughed  over  our  recent 
experience.  We  must  have  laughed 
pretty  loud,  for  a  head  was  suddenly 
thrust  into  the  car  doorway  and  a  stern 
visage  confronted  us.  It  was  the  brake- 
man's.  "What  you  fellers  doin'  there?" 
asked  Brakey. 

"Only  taking  a  ride,"  responded 
Billy. 

"Where  to?"  asked  Brakey. 

"Down  the  line  a  little  way." 

"What  are  you  riding  on?"  asked  Mr. 
Brakeman. 

"On  a  freight  train,"  innocently  an- 
swered Billy. 

"I  guffawed,  for  I  knew  Billy  had 
given  the  wrong  answer,  but  Brakey 
never  cracked  a  smile. 

"Got  any  money  or  tickets?"  asked 
he,  gravely. 

"No,"  answered  Billy. 

"Get  off  then  and  be  quick  about  it," 
was  the  stern  command. 

Off  we  hopped  and  quite  crestfallen, 
too,  for  our  journey  for  the  time  being 
was  ended.  We  wandered  back  to  the 
railroad  station  to  ascertain  when  the 
next  train  would  leave.     There  would 


22 


be  nothing  until  early  the  next  morning 
we  learned,  so  there  was  nothing  for 
us  to  do  but  to  unroll  our  blankets  and 
lay  off  somewhere  near  by  where  we 
could  catch  a  train  as  it  came  by.  We 
were  very  hungry,  but  turned  in  sup- 
perless,  and  chewed  tobacco  to  satisfy 
the  cravings  of  our  stomachs.  We  soon 
fell  asleep  but  kept  one  ear  open  to 
catch  the  sound  of  any  freight  train 
coming  our  way.  Wayfarers  are 
wonderfully  acute,  even  in  their 
sleep,  as  regards  noticing  the  ap- 
proach of  trains.  No  matter  how 
sound  their  sleep  may  be,  they  will 
wake  up  at  the  proper  time  to  board  a 
train  nine  times  out  of  ten,  unless  they 
are  too  badly  boozed.  During  the 
early  hours  of  the  morning  a  long  train 
full  of  empty  cars  came  our  way  and 
we  made  it  easily.  It  was  mighty 
chilly  at  that  time  of  the  day,  but  as  we 
had  on  heavy  overcoats,  our  bodies  did 
not  suffer  much.  Our  feet,  however, 
did.  Fellows  who  beat  their  way, 
though,  must  put  up  with  such  little 
inconveniences  without  kicking.  It  be- 
longs to  the  business.    They  must  bear 


23 


hunger,  cold,  thirst,  dust,  dirt  and 
other  trifles  of  that  kind  and  get  used 
to  it.  Those  who  travel  in  Pullman  and 
tourist  cars  pay  their  money  and  sleep 
on  feathers,  but  we  slept  just  as  well 
and  nearly  as  warmly,  wrapped  in  our 
blankets  in  a  box  car.  During  our 
wanderings  we  slept  on  the  ground,  in 
old  shacks,  barns,  sidetracked  cars  or 
any  old  place  and  got  along  fairly  well. 
We  didn't  have  washbasins  to  wash  in, 
but  we  carried  soap,  brushes  and  hand- 
glasses with  us,  and  could  make  our 
toilet  at  any  place  where  there  was  run- 
ning water.  Water  was  plentiful  in 
the  Sierra  mountains. 

We  nulled  out  of  Dutch  Flat  when 
the  train  got  ready  and  flew  down  the 
mountain  side  at  great  speed.  We  could 
go  as  lively  as  the  train  could  in  our 
car,  however,  and  the  speed  was  exhil- 
arating, but  the  morning  breeze  was 
mighty  keen  and  cutting.  We  would 
have  given  a  great  deal  for  a  cup  of 
hot  coffee  just  then,  but  of  course  it 
wasn't  to  be  had. 

When  we  neared  a  place  called  Au- 
burn we  saw  a  grove  of  trees,  the  leaves 


24 


of  which  were  a  deep  green,  and  among 
them  hung  little  balls  of  golden  yellow 
fruit  that  looked  good  to  us. 

"Hi,  Billy/'  exclaimed  I,  "look  at 
them  yellow  balls  hanging  on  the  trees, 
will  you?    Wonder  what  they  are?" 

Billy  looked  at  them  fixedly  for  quite 
a  while  and  then  suddenly  made  a 
shrewd  guess. 

"Them's  oranges,  Windy,  as  sure  as 
we're  alive." 

These  were  the  first  oranges  Billy  or 
I  had  ever  seen  growing  on  trees  and 
they  surely  looked  good  to  us.  They 
reminded  us  of  Christmas  trees.  We 
would  liked  to  have  jumped  out  to  get 
some  oranges  for  breakfast,  but  they 
were  so  near  and  yet  so  far  that  we 
desisted.  How  tantalizing  it  was  to 
see  a  tempting  breakfast  before  you 
and  not  be  able  to  eat  it.  But  the  train 
didn't  stop  anywhere  for  refreshments, 
so  that  let  us  out.  When  we  got  down 
to  a  place  called  Roseville,  which  was 
a  junction,  we  noticed  several  orange 
trees  standing  near  the  depot  with 
plenty  of  oranges  hanging  amid  the 
leaves,  and  oh,  how  we  did  long  to  make 


25 


a  rush  for  them.  The  train  crew  was 
on  that  side  of  the  train,  however,  and 
there  were  plenty  of  people  near  the 
depot  so  we  dared  not  make  the  venture. 
Oh,  if  this  train  would  only  stop  twenty 
minutes  for  refreshments  maybe  we 
could  get  a  handout,  but  it  didn't  stop, 
so  we  had  to  go  hungry  till  we  reached 
Sacramento. 

We  got  to  Sacramento,  the  Capital 
of  California,  before  noon,  and  jumped 
off  the  train  in  the  railroad  yard,  keep- 
ing an  eye  on  the  bulls  and  fly-cops  that 
buzzed  around  there.  No  one  got  on 
to  us  so  we  walked  leisurely  along  with 
our  blankets  slung  over  our  shoulders. 
The  railroad  yards  were  quite  extensive 
and  it  took  us  quite  a  while  to  traverse 
them.  In  them  were  car  shops,  found- 
ries and  all  kinds  of  buildings  and 
things  pertaining  to  railroads.  Sacra- 
mento is  a  railroad  division,  the 
first  out  of  Frisco,  I  believe,  and 
we  noticed  a  good  deal  doing  in  the 
way  of  railroad  manufacturing,  but  we 
were  too  hungry  to  care  for  such  things 
just  then.    We  got   to   the   passenger 


26 


train  shed  which  was  a  large  housed- 
over  building  of  glass  and  iron,  and  out- 
side of  it  came  upon  a  broad  street  which 
led  into  the  town.  Alongside  of  this 
street  I  noticed  a  slough  with  green 
scum  upon  it  which  didn't  look  good  to 
me  for  swimming  or  any  other  purpose. 
On  the  other  side  of  this  pond  was  a 
big  Chinatown  and  Billy  and  me 
thought  we  might  as  well  see  what  it 
looked  like.  We  entered  it  and  saw  a 
young  workingman  come  out  of  a  ten- 
cent  restaurant.  Billy  stepped  up  to 
him  and  boned  him  for  the  price  of  a 
square  meal.  He  listened  to  Billy's 
hungry  tale  of  woe  and  coughed  up  a 
dime  with  which  we  bought  two  loaves 
of  bread.  We  then  wandered  through 
the  streets  looking  for  a  retired  spot 
where  we  could  sit  down  and  eat  but 
the  streets  in  that  locality  were  so  filthy 
and  the  Mongolians  so  plentiful  that 
we  concluded  to  keep  a  moving.  We 
came  to  J  and  then  to  K  Street,  which 
were  broad  business  thoroughfares  full 
of  stores  and  then  we  walked  along  K 
Street  until  we  saw  a  shady  green  park. 


27 


To  it  we  wandered  and  found  a  com- 
fortable rustic  seat  under  the  shade  of 
a  spreading  oak  tree.  We  threw  our 
blankets  behind  our  seat  and  sat  down 
and  blew  off  steam.  We  were  tired, 
hot,  dusty  and  hungry.  While  eat- 
ing we  looked  about  us.  The  park 
wasn't  a  large  one  but  it  was  a  trim  one. 
The  lawns  were  shaved  down  close,  the 
winding  walks  were  well-kept,  there 
were  flowers  to  be  seen,  palm  trees, 
pampas-plume  bushes  and,  oh  ye  gods! 
orange  trees  with  oranges  on  them. 

"Say  Billy,"  remarked  I  with  my 
mouth  full  of  bread,  "get  on  to  the  or- 
ange trees,  will  you?" 

"Where?"  asked  Billy,  with  wide- 
staring  eyes. 

"Why,  right  along  the  walk  up  that 
way,"  said  I,  pointing. 

"Sure  enough,"  says  Billy,  "keep  an 
eye  on  my  grub,  will  you,  while  I  get  a 
hatful,"  said  he  excitedly. 

"Keep  your  eyes  peeled  for  cops,"  ad- 
monished I,  as  Billy  rushed  off. 

Billy  made  the  riffle  all  right  and 
came  back  with  four  or  five  nice  looking 


28 


oranges,  which  were  all  he  could  carry. 
He  remarked  that  they  would  do  for 
the  present.  After  stowing  the  bread 
and  getting  a  drink  of  muddy  water 
from  a  fountain  near  by,  we  tackled 
the  oranges  and  found  them  dry  and 
tasteless  and  bitter  as  gall. 

"Call  them  things  oranges!"  sneered 
Billy,  as  he  threw  his  portion  away  with 
disgust ;  why  they're  bitter  as  gall.  I've 
bought  many  a  better  orange  than  that 
in  the  old  country  for  a  penny. 

"I  thought  they  raised  good  oranges 
in  California,"  said  I,  "but  if  they're 
all  like  these,  then  I  don't  want  any  of 
them,"  whereupon  I  threw  mine  over 
my  shoulder,  too,  into  the  shrubbery 
behind  me.  Oh,  weren't  they  bitter; 
Boo! 

"Billy,  we've  been  misinformed," 
said  I,  "the  oranges  in  California  are 
N.  G." 

(  "Right  you  are,  Windy,  but  as  they 
didn't  cost  us  anything  we  oughtn't  to 
kick." 

After  eating  and  resting,  we  took  in 
thetown.  We  found  Sacramento  to  be 
a  sizeable  place,  containing  about  fifty 


29 


thousand  people,  and  the  people  to  us 
seemed  sociable,  chatty  and  friendly. 
We  both  liked  the  place  first  class,  and 
as  we  were  broke,  concluded  to  try  our 
luck  there  for  awhile.  We  struck  a 
street  cleaning  job  and  held  it  down  for 
a  week.  The  water  used  in  Sacramento 
comes  from  the  Sacramento  river,  we 
were  told,  and  as  it  wasn't  at  all  good, 
we  took  to  beer,  as  did  many  others. 
We  were  told  about  a  class  of  people  in 
Sacramento  called  Native  Sons,  who 
monopolized  all  the  good  things  in  the 
way  of  jobs.  Native  Sons  are  native 
born  Calif  ornians  who  take  a  great  deal 
of  pride  in  their  state  and  have  an  or- 
ganization which  they  call  the  Native 
Sons  of  the  Golden  West.  The  aim  of 
this  organization  is  to  beautify  Califor- 
nia, plant  trees,  keep  up  the  old  mis- 
sions, preserve  the  giant  redwood  trees, 
forests,  and  the  like.  Lots  of  fellows 
spoke  ill  of  the  Native  Sons,  but  we 
didn't,  for  they  weren't  hurting  us  any. 
The  native  Californians  we  met  in  Sac- 
ramento to  us  seemed  a  genial  sort  of 
people  who  are  willing  to  do  strangers 
or  anyone   a   good   turn,  if  they  can. 


30 


Lots  of  them  were  hustlers  and  full  of 
business  and  their  city  surely  is  a 
snorter.  There  are  several  large  parks 
in  Sacramento,  fruit  and  vegetable 
markets,  and  any  number  of  swell  sa- 
loons where  a  schooner  of  beer  and  a 
free  lunch  can  be  had  for  a  nickel.  Then 
there  is  the  Western  Hotel,  State  House 
and  Capitol  Hotels,  all  of  which  are  big 
ones,  and  any  number  of  fine  stores  and 
lots  of  broad,  well-shaded  residence 
streets,  traction  cars,  electric  lights, 
etc.    The  city  is  right  up  to  date. 

After  we  had  been  there  about  a 
week,  Billy  suddenly  got  a  severe  attack 
of  the  shakes  and  seemed  in  a  bad  way. 
His  lips  turned  blue,  his  eyes  burned 
with  fever,  his  teeth  rattled  like  clap- 
pers, and  his  body  shook  as  if  he  had 
the  jim-jams.  I  went  to  a  dispensary 
and  had  some  dope  fixed  up  for  him, 
but  it  didn't  seem  to  do  him  any  good. 
I  then  bought  a  quart  bottle  of  whiskey, 
and  poured  the  whole  of  it  down  his 
throat.  He  took  to  it  as  naturally  as  a 
kid  does  to  its  mother's  milk,  but  every 
day  the  poor  little  cuss  got  worse. 


31 


"Let's  hike  out  of  this  place,  Billy," 
said  I;  "the  best  cure  for  the  shakes  is 
to  go  where  there  isn't  any,  for  as  long 
as  we  stay  here  you'll  be  sick." 

Billy,  as  usual,  was  willing  to  do  as  I 
said  (and  I  was  always  willing  to  do  as 
he  said),  so  we  made  tracks  out  of  Sac- 
ramento in  pretty  short  order. 

We  crossed  the  Sacramento  river, 
which  is  about  a  half  a  mile  across,  on 
a  wooden  bridge,  and  it  was  all  Billy 
could  do  to  walk  across  it.  He  was  as 
weak  as  a  kitten  and  so  groggy  on  his 
pins  that  he  could  hardly  stand  up. 
Some  neople  who  saw  him  probably 
thought  he  was  boozed,  but  he  wasn't, 
any  more  than  I  was.  I  took  hold  of  his 
arm  and  led  him  alono\  but  the  little 
cuss  sat  down  on  a  string  piece  of  the 
bridge  and  told  me  to  let  him  die  in 
peace. 

"Die  nothing,  you  silly  little  Brit- 
isher: you  ain't  any  nearer  death  than 
I  am,"  said  I.  "Sit  down  and  rest  your- 
self and  then  we'll  take  another  little 
hike.  We'll  make  a  train  somewherp 
on  the  other  side  of  the  river,  then  ho! 
for  'Frisco,    where    our    troubles   will 


32 


soon    be  ended.     Brace  up,  old  man, 
and  never  say  die." 

I  jollied  the  little  cuss  along  in  that 
way  until  we  got  to  a  little  station 
where  we  could  catch  a  train  and  we 
soon  did  catch  one. 

We  rode  on  to  Davis,  which  was  a 
junction,  and  close  to  the  station  I  saw 
a  large  vineyard.  I  pointed  it  out  to 
Billy. 

"Stay  where  you  are,  Billy,  and  I'll 
get  you  some  grapes,"  said  I. 

Grapes  were  ripe  just  then.  I  jumped 
over  the  fence  and  secured  a  big  hatful 
of  fine  big,  flaming  tokay  grapes.  They 
were  delicious  and  did  Billy  a  world  of 
good. 

We  were  now  fairly  on  our  way  to 
'Frisco,  the  Mecca  of  all  bums.  We 
never  saw  a  bum  yet  who  hadn't  been 
in  'Frisco  or  who  didn't  know  all  about 
the  city. 

Billy  and  me  had  heard  about  it,  but 
hadn't  seen  it,  and  though  we  were  on 
the  tramp,  didn't  consider  ourselves 
bums.  We  worked  when  we  could  find 
something  to  do,  but  when  there  was 
nothing  to  do,  of  course  we  couldn't  do 


33 


it.  Work  is  something  a  bum  will  never 
do.  Lots  of  the  bums  we  met  along  the 
road  were  criminals  and  some  of  them 
pretty  desperate  ones  at  that.  A  few 
were  chaps  who  were  merely  traveling 
to  get  somewhere  and  had  no  money  to 
pay  their  way.  Others  had  money  and 
would  not  pay.  Some  were  honest  la- 
boring men  flitting  from  point  to  point 
in  search  of  work,  and  not  a  few  were 
unfortunates  who  had- held  high  posi- 
tions and  were  down  and  out  through 
drink  or  misfortune  of  some  sort. 
There  were  all  sorts  beating  their  way, 
and  there  always  will  be.  The  profes- 
sional vag  is  a  low  down  fellow  who 
has  few  redeeming  qualities.  He  is 
agreeable  with  his  chums  and  that  is 
about  all.  Neither  Billy  nor  I  were 
low,  base  born  fellows,  or  criminals, 
and  our  parents  were  respectable,  so 
that  is  why  we  took  to  each  other.  We 
were  fellow  mortals  in  distress,  that 
is  all.  We  did  not  think  it  very  wrong 
to  take  a  chicken  if  we  were  very  hun- 
gry, but  that  was  the  extent  of  our  evil 
doing.  We  bought  our  own  clothes, 
blankets,  etc.,  and  never  broke  into  a 


34 


house  to  steal  anything.  One  outfit  that 
we  were  with  at  one  time  in  Utah,  one 
night  stole  a  suit  case  that  was  stand- 
ing on  the  platform  of  a  railroad  sta- 
tion and  they  divided  up  its  contents 
among  themselves.  It  consisted  of  a 
coat,  vest,  pants,  collars,  ties,  handker- 
chiefs, brush,  combs,  etc.,  and  had  we 
been  caught  the  whole  bunch  of  us 
might  have  been  pinched,  but  the  gang 
made  tracks  in  a  hurry  and  got  as  far 
away  from  the  scene  of  the  robbery 
as  they  could.  Some  of  the  characters 
we  met  in  our  travels  would  have  con- 
taminated a  saint  almost,  for  their 
looks,  actions  and  words  revealed  their 
disposition.  The  higher  up  in  crime 
some  of  these  chaps  were,  and  the  abler 
and  more  desperate,  the  more  were  they 
admired  by  some  of  their  fellows.  This 
kind  of  chaps  were  generally  the  cap- 
tains of  the  camp,  and  gave  orders  that 
were  readily  obeyed  by  the  others.  One 
bum  was  generally  commanded  by  the 
captain  to  go  and  rustle  up  bread,  an- 
other was  sent  for  meat,  a  third  for 
coffee,  a  fourth  for  suear,  a  fifth  for 
pepper  and  salt,  etc.     No  matter  how 


35 


things  were  obtained,  if  they  were  ob- 
tained no  questions  were  asked. 

One  fellow  returned  to  camp  with 
a  quarter  of  a  lamb  one  night  and 
boastfully  told  how  he  had  got  it.  It 
had  hung  up  outside  a  butcher  shop 
and  he  stole  it.  The  captain  mumbled 
his  approval  in  low  tones,  for  he  was 
too  mighty  to  praise  loudly  or  in  many 
words. 

The  ways  of  hobos  are  various,  and 
it  would  take  up  a  great  deal  of  space 
to  describe  them  in  detail. 

It  was  along  toward  sundown  when 
we  made  a  train  out  of  Davis,  Davis, 
like  Sacramento,  was  a  pretty  hard 
town  to  get  out  of,  and  the  best  we 
could  do  was  to  ride  the  rods.  That 
was  easy  enough,  even  for  Billy,  who 
was  rather  delicate  at  that  time.  The 
rods  under  some  freight  cars  are  many 
and  well  arranged  for  riding  purposes. 
They  are  fairly  thick  bars  of  iron  set 
close  together,  stretching  from  one 
side  of  the  car  to  the  other,  underneath 
the  body  of  the  car,  and  though  not 
very  often  soft,  when  an  overcoat  is 
strung   across   them,    with    rolled   up 


36 


blankets  for  a  pillow,  they  are  the  next 
best  thing  to  a  berth  in  a  Pullman  car. 
When  one  side  of  our  body  ached,  we 
just  turned  over  to  the  other  side,  and 
it  beat  riding  on  the  bumpers  or  brake- 
beams  all  hollow.  A  berth  in  a  Pull- 
man costs  about  five  dollars  per  night, 
fare  extra,  so  we  were  saving  lots  of 
money.  Beating  our  way  on  a  railroad 
we  considered  no  crime  at  all,  for  to 
judge  from  what  I  can  read  in  the 
newspapers,  the  railroads  rob  the  peo- 
ple, so  why  shouldn't  the  people  rob 
them?  That's  a  good  argument, 
ain't    it? 

The  measly  old  train  must  have  been 
a  way-freight,  for  she  made  long  stops 
at  every  little  excuse  of  a  town  she 
came  to.  About,  ten  o'clock  at  night 
she  came  to  a  place  called  Benicia,  and 
there  the  train  was  cut  in  two,  so  I 
hopped  off  to  see  what  the  difficulty 
was.  On  both  sides  and  ahead  of  us 
was  water.  I  rushed  back  to  Billy  and 
told  him  to  get  off  in  a  hurry. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Billy. 

"There's  water  all  around  us,  and  I 
guess  they're  going  to  carry  the  cars 


37 


over  on  a  ferry  boat.  I  suppose  our 
journey  for  the  night  will  end  here." 

"Not  much,  Windy,"  replied  Billy; 
"I  want  to  get  to  'Frisco  tonight  and 
maybe  we  can  pay  our  way  across  on 
the  boat." 

We  walked  boldly  on  a  boat  that  we 
saw  the  cars  being  pulled  onto  by  a 
locomotive,  and  when  we  got  near  a 
cabin  a  ship's  officer  stepped  up  to  us 
and  wanted  to  know  where  we  were 
going. 

"To  'Frisco,"  said  I. 

"To  'Frisco?"  said  he  with  a  grin. 
"Well,  you'll  have  to  pay  your  way 
across  the  ferry  on  this  boat." 

"What's  the  fare?"  asked  Billy. 

"Seeing  that  you  two  are  good-look- 
ing fellows,  I'll  only  charge  you  ten 
cents  apiece,"  said  the  captain,  or  offi- 
cer, jokingly. 

We  both  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief, 
for  we  thought  the  boat  was  going  to 
'Frisco  and  that  we'd  have  to  pay  a  big 
price.  I  handed  the  good-natured  offi- 
cer two  dimes  for  us  both  and  we  felt 
happy  once  more.  The  boat  wasn't 
long  making  the  trip,  only  about  ten 


38 


minutes  or  so,  and  on  the  other  side  we 
found  no  difficulty  in  making  our  train 
again,  after  she  was  made  up.  We  held 
her  down  until  she  reached  Oakland, 
which  is  opposite  'Frisco.  There  we 
learned  there  was  one  more  ferry  to 
cross  before  we  could  get  into  'Frisco, 
so  Billy  and  I  decided  to  remain  where 
we  were  for  the  night,  for  it  was  late. 
We  prowled  around  until  we  found  an 
open  freight  car,  and  turned  in  for  a 
snooze. 

The  next  morning  was  a  beautiful 
one,  and  we  were  up  and  out  by  day- 
light. The  weather  wasn't  cold,  the  sun 
was  bright  and  cheery,  but  over 
'Frisco  we  could  see  a  sort  of  fog  hang- 
ing. It  was  easy  enough  to  see  across 
the  bay  of  San  Francisco,  for  the  dis- 
tance is  only  about  five  miles,  but  the 
length  of  the  bay  we  could  not  deter- 
mine, for  it  stretched  further  than  the 
eye  could  reach.  We  noticed  an  island 
in  the  bay  not  far  from  Oakland,  and 
from  Oakland  a  long  wharf  extended 
far  out  into  the  harbor,  maybe  a  mile 
or  so.  We  walked  along  this  wharf  un- 
til we  came  to  a  big  train-shed   and 


39 


ferry  house  combined,  where  we 
coughed  up  two  more  dimes  and  got 
upon  a  large  ferry-boat.  As  it  was 
very  early  in  the  morning,  very  few 
passengers  were  on  the  boat.  We 
walked  to  the  front  of  the  boat  and 
drank  in  the  delicious  morning  breeze. 
The  ferry-boat  was  as  large  and  fine  a 
one  as  I  had  ever  seen.  It  was  a  double- 
decker  with  large  cabins  below  and 
aloft,  and  with  runways  for  vehicles 
between.  The  cabins  were  very  spa- 
cious and  handsomely  fitted  up. 

At  about  half  past  five  the  boat 
started  on  her  way  across,  and  now  we 
were  making  a  straight  shoot  for 
'Frisco.  Talking  of  'Frisco,  by  the 
way,  permit  me  to  say  a  word  about 
the  name.  The  people  of  San  Fran- 
cisco don't  like  to  have  their  city  called 
'Frisco,  but  prefer  to  have  it  called  by 
its  full  title.  They  think  the  abbrevia- 
tion is  a  slur.  I  can't  see  it  in  that 
light.  'Frisco  is  short  and  sweet  and 
fills  the  bill;  life  is  too  short  to  call  it 
San  Francisco. 

The  ride  across  the  bay  was  fine  and 
lasted  about  half  an  hour.    We  passed 


40 


an  island  which  someone  told  us  was 
Goat  Island,  and  Billy  and  me  won- 
dered whether  there  were  any  billies  or 
nannies  on  it.  We  didn't  get  close 
enough  to  see  any.  Further  on  we  saw 
another  island  which  was  hilly  like 
Goat  Island.  It  was  called  Alcatraz. 
It  contained  an  army  post  and  was 
fortified.  It  looked  formidable,  we 
thought.  Not  very  far  away,  and 
straight  out,  was  the  Golden  Gate, 
which  had  no  gates  near  it  that  we 
could  see,  but  just  two  headlands  about 
a  mile  or  so  apart.  Outside  of  the 
Golden  Gate  is  the  Pacific  Ocean. 

We  were  now  nearing  'Frisco,  which 
lay  right  ahead  of  us.  Nothing  but 
steep  hills  could  we  see.  They  were 
built  up  compactly  with  houses.  As  we 
got  close  to  the  shore  we  saw  plenty  of 
level  streets  and  wharves,  and  along- 
side of  the  wharves,  ships.  We  steered 
straight  for  a  tall  tower  on  which  there 
was  a  huge  clock,  which  told  us  the 
time — six  o'clock.  We  entered  the  ferry 
slip,  moored  fast  and  soon  set  foot  in 
'Frisco. 


41 


CHAPTER  II. 

'FRISCO. 

Our  first  glimpse  of  'Frisco  made  us 
like  the  place.  Near  the  ferry  slip  were 
eating  joints  by  the  bushel,  more  sa- 
loons than  you  could  shake  a  stick  at, 
sailors'  boarding  houses,  fruit  stands 
containing  fruit  that  made  our  teeth 
water;  oyster-houses,  lodging-houses — 
in  fact  there  was  everything  there  to 
make  a  fellow  feel  right  at  home. 
'Frisco  is  all  right  and  everyone  who 
has  been  there  will  tell  you  so.  What 
she  ain't  got  ain't  worth  having.  Every 
bum  that  I  ever  saw  spoke  well  of  the 
town  and  gave  it  a  good  name.  It  is  a 
paradise  for  grafters.  You  can  get  as 
good  a  meal  there  for  ten  cents  as  you 
will  have  to  pay  double  for  anywhere 
else.  Fruit  is  fine,  plentiful  and  cheap ; 
vegetables  are  enormous  in  size  and 
don't  cost  anything,  hardly;  any  and 
every  kind  of  fish  is  there;  meats  are 
wonderful  to  behold,  and  not  dear ;  and 
say,  it's  an  all-around  paradise,  sure 
enough.    Every  kind  of  people  can  be 


42 


found  there — Greasers,  Greeks,  Scan- 
dinavians ,  Spanish,  Turks,  Armenians, 
Hebrews,  Italians,  Germans,  Chinese, 
Japanese,  negroes  and  all  sorts.  It  is 
a  vast  international  city. 

Bums  are  there  in  unlimited  quanti- 
ties, any  number  of  criminals,  bunco- 
men,  "chippies"  till  you  can't  rest, 
highbinders  by  the  score  up  in  China- 
town, and  lots  of  bad  people.  The  town 
is  noted  for  being  pretty  lively.  It  sure- 
ly is  wide  open  and  you  can  sit  in  a 
little  game  at  any  time.  Californians 
in  particular  and  Westerners  general- 
ly take  to  gambling  as  naturally  as  a 
darky  does  to  watermelons  and  pork 
chops.  The  'Frisco  gambling*  houses 
are  never  closed.  Efforts  have  been 
made  to  close  them  but  they  were  futile. 
Might  as  well  try  to  sweep  back  the 
ocean  with  a  broom.  There  are  lots  of 
good  people  in  'Frisco,  but  the  bad  ones 
are  more  than  numerous.  I  think 
'Frisco  is  about  the  liveliest,  dizziest 
place  on  the  continent  today,  of  its  size. 
It  has  more  restaurants,  saloons,  the- 
aters, dance  halls,  pull-in-and-drag-out 
places,  groceries  with    saloon    attach- 


43 


ments  to  them,  than  any  place  I  ever 
struck.  Money  is  plentiful,  easy  to  ob- 
tain and  is  spent  lavishly.  A  dollar 
seems  less  to  a  Californian  than  a  dime 
to  an  Easterner.  He  will  let  it  go 
quicker  and  think  less  of  it.  If  he  goes 
into  a  restaurant  or  saloon  and  buys  a 
drink  or  meal  which  does  not  suit  him, 
he  pays  the  price  and  makes  no  kick, 
but  don't  go  there  again.  He  don't  be- 
lieve in  kicking.  He  was  not  brought 
up  that  way.  He  will  lose  his  money 
at  the  races  arid  try  his  luck  again. 
"Better  luck  next  time,"  says  he,  and 
his  friends  to  him.  He  will  take  his 
girl  out  and  blow  in  his  money  for  her 
on  the  very  best  of  everything.  The 
best  theater,  the  best  wine  supper  are 
none  too  good  for  his  girl.  What  if  he 
does  go  broke,  there's  plenty  more 
money  to  be  had.  Money  is  no  object 
to  a  'Friscoite.  Billy  and  I  weren't  in 
'Frisco  long  before  we  got  onto  these 
things.  Calif ornians  are  sociable  and 
will  talk  to  anyone.  Billy  concluded  to 
live  and  die  there,  the  place  suited  him 
so  well.  Work  was  plentiful,  wages 
were  high,  and  the  working  hours  few. 


44 


Billy  said  it  beat  the  old  country  all 
hollow.  Ha'-pennies  or  tup-pennies 
didn't  go  here;  the  least  money  used 
was  nickels  and  dimes.  Nothing  could 
be  purchased  for  less  than  a  nickel  (five 
cents)  for  even  a  newspaper  of  any 
kind  cost  that  much.  No  wonder  the 
newsboys  could  shoot  craps  or  play  the 
races.  Even  the  servant  girls  gam- 
bled in  something  or  other.  'Frisco  is 
all  right.  Bet  your  sweet  life!  The 
rest  of  America  ain't  in  it  with  her. 
Lots  of  Britishers  live  there,  too ;  that 
is  why  Billy  liked  it  so  well.  Every- 
one who  ain't  sick  or  got  the  belly  ache, 
or  some  other  trouble,  likes  'Frisco.  As 
regards  climate!  They  have  it  in 
'Frisco.  About  sixty  degrees  by  the 
thermometer  all  the  year  round.  No 
snow,  ice,  cyclones  or  mosquitoes;  but 
bed-bugs,  fleas,  earthquakes  and  fogs. 
As  for  fleas,  they  are  thick  in  'Frisco 
and  mighty  troublesome.  When  you 
see  a  lady  or  gent  pinch  his  or  her  leg 
that  means  a  bite — flea.  As  'Frisco  is 
built  on  a  sandy  peninsula,  that  may  be 
the  reason  why  fleas  are  so  plentiful, 
for  it  is  said  they  like  sandy  spots. 


45 


Billy  and  I  had  a  little  money  which 
we  earned  in  Sacramento,  so  we  con- 
cluded that  the  first  thing  to  do  was  to 
get  a  square  meal.  We  sought  out  a 
likely  looking  restaurant  along  the 
water  front  where  a  good  meal  could  be 
had  for  ten  cents  and  in  we  went.  I 
ordered  a  steak  and  Billy  ordered  mut- 
ton chops ;  Billy  wanted  tea  and  I  want- 
ed coffee.  Each  of  us  had  a  bowl  of 
mush  first,  then  potatoes,  bread  and 
butter,  hot  cakes,  tea  or  coffee,  and 
meat.  More  than  we  could  eat  was  put 
before  us  and  I  had  a  horse-like  appe- 
tite. Billy  was  a  little  off  his  feed.  The 
meal  was  as  good  as  it  was  cheap.  The 
next  thing  to  be  done  was  to  hunt  up  a 
lodging  place.  There  were  any  number 
of  them  in  the  vicinity,  and  we  soon 
found  a  joint  where  the  two  of  us  could 
room  together  for  a  dollar  and  a  half 
per  week.  The  place  was  over  a  saloon, 
and  though  it  wasn't  high-toned,  it 
seemed  neat  enough. 

The  next  event  on  the  program 
was  sight-seeing.  We  left  our  things 
under  lock  and  key  in  our  room  and 
leisurely  strolled  along  the  water  front 


46 


to  see  what  we  could  see.  While  stroll- 
ing along  the  street  facing  the  wharves, 
we  were  passing  a  clothing  store  when 
a  Hebrew  gentleman  stepped  out  and 
asked  us  if  we  wanted  to  buy  a  suit  of 
clothes.  We  told  him  no,  but  he  didn't 
seem  to  want  to  take  "no"  for  an  an- 
swer. 

"Shentlemens,  I  got  some  mighty  fine 
clothes  inside  and  I'll  sell  them  very 
cheap." 

"Ain't  got  no  money,  today,"  said  I, 
as  we  tried  to  pass  on. 

"Don't  be  in  der  hurry,"  said  the 
Hebrew  gentleman;  come  in  and  take  a 
look,  it  won't  cost  you  noddings." 

I  was  for  moving  on,  but  Billy  said, 
"What's  the  harm?  Let's  go  in  and 
see  what  he's  got." 

In  we  went,  slowly  and  cautiously, 
but  we  knew  the  old  Jew  couldn't  rob 
us  in  open  daylight. 

"What  size  do  you  wear?"  asked  he 
of  Billy. 

"Damfino,"  says  Billy;  "I  didn't 
come  in  to  buy  any  clothes  today." 

"Let  me  measure  you,"  says  the  Is- 
raelite, "I  got  some  clothes  here  that 


47 


will  make  your  eyes  water  when  you 
see  dem." 

Billy  stood  up  and  let  his  measure 
be  taken.  This  done,  the  vender  of 
clothes  made  an  inspection  of  the  cloth- 
ing-piles, calling  out  to  Jakie  in  a  back 
room  to  come  forth  and  assist.  Jakie 
appeared,  and  seemed  a  husky  chap  of 
twenty-five  or  so.  Jakie  had  been  eat- 
ing his  breakfast.  The  two  storekeep- 
ers went  through  the  clothing  piles. 

"Aha!"  triumphantly  exclaimed  the 
old  Hebrew.  "I've  got  a  fine  suit  here. 
Dey'll  make  you  look  like  a  gentleman. 
Try  'em  on,"  turning  to  Billy. 

He  brought  forth  the  clothes  where 
Billy  could  examine  them,  but  after  ex- 
amination Billy  shook  his  head. 

"You  don't  like  'em?"  exclaimed  the 
old  gent;  "what's  de  matter  with  'em?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  fancy  that  kind  of 
cloth,"  said  Billy. 

It  looked  like  gray  blotting  paper. 

"What  kind  do  you  like?"  asked  the 
Hebrew,  rather  aggressively. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,"  answered  Billy. 

The  Jew  was  getting  mad,  but  he 


48 


brought  forth  another  suit  after  a  short 
search. 

"Here  is  something  fine;  you  kin 
wear  'em  for  efery  day  or  Sunday." 

Billy  examined  the  clothes,  but  shook 
his  head. 

"Dry  'em  on!  Dry  'em  on!  You'll  see 
they'll  fid  you  like  der  paper  on  der 
vail!" 

"What's  the  use  trying  'em  on?"  said 
Billy,  quietly;  "I  don't  like  'em  and 
they  wouldn't  fit  me  anyway." 

"Not  like  'em!"  exclaimed  the  now 
thoroughly  enraged  clothing  merchant; 
"I  don't  think  you  want  to  buy  no 
clothes  at  all;  you  couldn't  get  a  finer 
suit  of  clothes  in  San  Francisco,  and 
look  at  der  price,  too ;  only  ten  dollars, 
so  hellup  me  Isaac!" 

"The  price  is  all  right,  but  I  don't 
like  the  cut  of  the  clothes,"  said  Billy. 

"You  don't  like  der  style?" 

The  angry  man  now  got  the  thought 
through  his  noddle  that  Billy  wasn't 
going  to  buy  any  clothes,  whereupon  he 
grew  furious. 

"What  you  come  in  here  for,  you 


49 


dirty  tramp.    Get  out  of  here,  or  I  trow 
you  out." 

Here  I  stepped  up  and  told  the  mis- 
erable duffer  what  I  thought  of  him. 
I  expected  there  was  going  to  be  a 
knock  down  and  drag  out  scene,  but  as 
there  were  two  of  us,  the  two  Israelites 
thought  better  of  it  than  to  tackle  us. 
The  young  feller  hadn't  said  a  word, 
but  the  old  man  was  mad  clear  through. 
If  he  had  been  younger  I  would  have 
swiped  him  one  just  for  luck.  We  got 
out  of  the  place  all  right,  the  old  man 
and  I  telling  each  other  pretty  loud 
what  we  thought  of  each  other.  I  told 
Billy  he  ought  not  to  have  gone  in  there 
at  all  for  he  didn't  intend  to  buy  any 
clothes. 

"He  wanted  me  to  go  in,  didn't  he, 
whether  I  wanted  to  or  not?"  asked 
Billy. 

t  "Of  course,  he  did.  You  should  have 
given  him  a  kick  in  the  rump  and 
skipped  out.  That's  what  I  would  have 
done." 

"I'm  glad  it  didn't  end  in  a  row.  We 
might  have  got  into  trouble,"  concluded 
Billy. 


50 


We  strolled  along  the  wharves  to  see 
the  shipping.  The  ferry-house  at  the 
foot  of  Market  Street  is  a  huge  gran- 
ite building  (with  a  lofty  clock-tower 
on  top)  wherein  are  to  be  found  the 
various  ticket  offices  of  the  Southern 
Pacific,  Santa  Fe,  the  North  Shore, 
California  &  North  Western  and  other 
railroads.  Up  stairs  in  the  second  story 
is  an  extensive  horticultural  exhibit, 
where  are  displayed  the  products  of 
California ;  there  are  the  offices  of  vari- 
ous railroad  and  other  officials,  there, 
too.  To  take  a  train  on  any  railroad 
one  must  cross  the  bay  on  a  ferry-boat. 
Each  railroad  line  has  its  own  line  of 
ferry-boats  and  slips.  One  line  of 
boats  crosses  to  Oakland,  Alameda  and 
Berkeley;  another  to  Tiburon;  a  third 
to  Sausalito;  a  fourth  to  Point  Rich- 
mond, etc.  Every  boat  is  a  fine  one 
and  those  of  the  Santa  Fe  Railroad 
plying  to  Point  Richmond  are  all  paint- 
ed yellow.  The  traffic  at  the  ferry 
building  is  considerable  at  all  hours  of 
the  day  and  night. 

The  next  wharf,  which  is  also  a  cov- 
ered one  like  the  ferry-house,  is    the 


51 


landing-place  of  the  Stockton  steam- 
boats. There  are  two  lines  of  these 
boats  plying  between  'Frisco  and  Stock- 
ton, and  they  are  rivals.  The  distance 
between  Stockton  and  'Frisco  by  water 
is  about  one  hundred  miles,  yet  the  fare 
is  only  fifty  cents.  There  are  sleeping 
berths  aboard,  if  one  cares  to  use  them, 
at  fifty  cents  each,  and  meals  may  be 
had  for  twenty-five  cents.  Fifty  cents 
in  Western  lingo  is  called  four  bits,  and 
twenty-five  cents,  two  bits.  A  dime  is 
a  short  bit  and  fifteen  cents  a  long  bit ; 
six  bits  is  seventy-five  cents,  and  a  dol- 
lar is  simply  called  a  dollar. 

A  few  of  the  wharves  we  noticed 
were  roofed  over,  but  some  were  not. 
The  Folsom  Street  Wharf  is  devoted  to 
the  United  States  Army  transport  ser- 
vice, and  a  huge  transport  ship  going 
to  Manila  and  other  eastern  countries 
can  be  seen  there  at  any  time,  almost. 
No  one  is  allowed  on  this  wharf,  except 
on  business.  As  we  hadn't  any  particu- 
lar business  on  this  wharf  we  didn't 
care  to  go  upon  it.  There  was  a  watch- 
man at  the  gate.  At  a  wharf  or  two 
from  this  one  all  the  whaling  vessels 


52 


dock,  and  ' Frisco  today  is  the  greatest 
whaling  port  in  America,  we  were  told. 
There  was  one  whaling  vessel  there  at 
the  time,  but  she  didn't  look  good  to  us. 
She  was  short,  squat,  black  and  grimy, 
and  smelled  loudly  of  oil.  Billy  and  I 
concluded  we  wouldn't  care  to  sail  in 
such  a  ship  for  a  hundred  dollars  per 
month.  Near  by  was  a  long  uncovered 
wharf  which  extended  quite  a  way  out 
into  the  water.  At  either  side  of  it 
were  moored  big  deep-sea  going  vessels. 
One  was  the  Dumbarton,  of  Glasgow, 
another  the  Selkirk,  a  third  the  Necker 
— all  foreigners.  The  Selkirk  was 
British,  and  Billy's  heart  warmed  to 
her.  When  he  saw  an  English  flag  fly- 
ing on  one  of  the  masts  tears  came  to 
his  eyes  and  he  got  homesick.  He 
walked  up  the  gang-plank  and  wanted 
to  go  on  board,  but  a  sailor  on  deck  told 
him  there  was  no  admittance.  Billy 
marched  down  again  much  crestfallen. 
There  are  lots  of  evil  characters  in 
9  Frisco,  so  that  is  why  the  mariners  are 
wary. 

We    slowly    sauntered    along    the 
wharf,  and  at  a  string  piece  at  the  end 


53 


of  it  we  came  across  other  idlers,  sev- 
eral of  whom  were  engaged  in  fishing. 
We  saw  several  young  sharks  pulled  up 
and  several  other  kinds  of  fish  that  we 
didn't  know  the  names  of.  After  watch- 
ing the  fishing  for  a  while  we  moved 
on  and  went  into  some  of  the  side 
streets.  They  were  full  of  saloons,  some 
of  which  were  fitted  up  very  handsome- 
ly with  plate-glass,  fine  woodwork, 
marble  floors  and  elaborate  bars  with 
free  lunch  counter.  Other  saloons  were 
mere  groggeries  in  which  we  could  see 
and  hear  sailors  and  longshoremen 
singing  and  dancing.  Steam  beer  and 
lager  was  five  cents  a  glass  and  whiskey 
ten  cents.  Sailors'  boarding-houses 
were  numerous  in  these  localities,  as 
were  hotels,  stores  of  all  kinds,  ship- 
outfitting  shops,  lumber  yards,  coal 
offices,  foundries,  iron  works  and  the 
like. 

We  now  strolled  up  Market  Street, 
which  is  the  main  thoroughfare  of 
'Frisco.  It  is  a  broad  street,  flanked 
on  either  side  by  wholesale  and  retail 
commercial  establishments,  high-toned 
saloons  and  restaurants.    Many  street 


54 


car  lines  traverse  this  street  by  means 
of  cables,  and  there  are  one  or  two 
horse-car  lines. 

The  street  was  a  lively  one,  and 
thronged  with  people  and  vehicles.  Billy 
and  I  had  heard  a  great  deal  about  the 
Golden  Gate  Park,  the  Cliff  House,  the 
Seal  Rocks  and  the  Sutro  Baths,  so  we 
concluded  to  take  a  little  jaunt  out  that 
way  to  see  what  those  places  were  like. 
.  The  first  things  we  wanted  to  see 
were  the  seals. 

We  boarded  a  street-car  running  out 
to  the  Cliff  House,  and  found  the  ride 
a  long  and  interesting  one.  The  dis- 
tance was  many  miles  and  the  fare  only 
five  cents.  There  was  much  to  be  seen. 
Long  stretches  of  unfamiliar  streets 
rolled  by,  residence  and  business  sec- 
tions, strange  looking  houses,  hills  and 
valleys,  and  the  like.  The  air  was  won- 
derfully balmy  and  bracing  and  not 
a  bit  cold.  The  car  whirled  us  along 
very  rapidly  and  revealed  to  us  a  great 
deal  of  Golden  Gate  Park,  and  further 
on  lofty  tree-covered  hills,  bare  sand 
hills,  and  a  very  extensive  public  build- 
ing of  some  sort  whfch  was  perched  on 


55 


a  tree  clad  hillside,  and  then  it  skimmed 
along  parallel  with  the  ocean.  We  saw 
no  ships  on  the  ocean,  but  it  was  a  grand 
sight  nevertheless.  We  rushed  by  a 
life-saving  station  at  railroad  speed, 
which  we  regretted,  for  we  should  like 
to  have  seen  more  of  it,  and  after  rid- 
ing about  a  mile  or  so  more,  finally- 
stopped  alongside  a  shed,  which  was  the 
end  of  the  car  line.  Here  we  hopped 
off  with  the  rest  of  the  crowd,  and 
walked  along  a  wooden  sidewalk  which 
was  laid  over  the  sands.  Two  or  three 
restaurants  and  saloons  were  to  be  seen 
in  the  vicinity,  and  about  a  half  dozen 
booths.  There  was  a  picture  gallery  or 
two,  and  fruit  and  peanut  stands. 

We  bought  some  candy  and  peanuts 
to  keep  from  getting  hungry,  and  then 
followed  the  crowd  to  the  beach.  We 
walked  along  the  beach  and  then  up  a 
hill  leading  to  the  Cliff  House.  The 
views  along  this  road  were  fine.  We 
came  to  the  Cliff  House  and  saw  it  was 
nothing  more  nor  less  than  a  large  hotel 
built  on  a  cliff.  It  looked  pretty  high- 
toned  to  us,  so  me  and  Billy  hesitated 
about  going  in. 


56 


"They'll  soak  us  when  we  get  in 
there,  Windy,"  warned  Billy. 

"Nary  time,  Billy,"  retorted  I. 
"We'll  go  in  and  if  they  try  to  hold  us 
up  we'll  skip." 

"All  right,  then ;  let's  try  our  luck," 
said  Billy. 

In  we  went,  and  saw  a  barroom, 
which  we  didn't  enter.  Further  on  was 
a  glass  covered  porch,  along  which 
were  disposed  tables  and  chairs,  and 
which  invited  us  to  sit  down  and  have 
something.  We  were  not  hungry  or 
thirsty  just  then,  so  we  kept  a- walking, 
and  through  an  open  window  facing 
the  sea  we  saw  some  tall  rocks  in  the 
water,  about  a  quarter  of  a  mile  dis- 
tant, upon  which  were  a  whole  lot  of 
seals  that  were  barking  to  beat  the 
band. 

"There's  the  seals,  Billy,  large  as 
life,  sure  enough,"  remarked  I.  Billy 
stared. 

"I'll  be  blowed  if  they  ain't  cheeky 
beggars,"  said  he,  with  a  face  full  of 
astonishment.  "It's  a  wonder  they'd 
come  so  near  to  the  shore." 

Some  of  the  animals  were  snoozing 


57 


on  the  rocks,  others  were  crawling  up 
the  rocky  sides  of  the  islet,  a  few  were 
bellowing,  and  the  whole  place  seemed 
covered  with  them.  A  wonderful  sight 
it  was !  We  looked  until  we  grew  tired, 
and  I  wanted  to  drag  Billy  away,  but  he 
didn't  seem  to  want  to  go. 

"There's  other  things  to  be  seen, 
Billy,"  said  I;  "we  can't  stay  here  all 
day." 

Billy  tore  himself  away  reluctantly 
and  then  we  wandered  over  to  the  Sutro 
Heights,  which  is  a  tall  hill  with  fine 
and  extensive  gardens  upon  it.  From 
this  hill  a  fine  view  of  the  ocean  may 
be  obtained.  There  are  fine  drives  in 
these  gardens  bordered  with  flowers, 
shady  walks,  statues,  fountains,  rustic 
arbors  and  seats,  cosy  niches  where  one 
could  sit  and  view  the  ocean,  roads  built 
terrace-like  upon  the  cliffs,  and  other 
very  pretty  features.  A  lovely  spot  in- 
deed, it  was.  It  was  built  by  Mr. 
Adolph  Sutro,  a  millionaire.  It  was 
free  to  all.  We  walked  in  the  gardens 
until  we  grew  tired,  and  then  sat 
down  and  contemplated  the  ocean.  Af- 
terward we  strolled    toward    Golden 


58 


Gate  Park  and  inspected  it.  It  was 
close  by  and  we  found  it  a  very  exten- 
sive one.  It  seemed  endless,  indeed,  to 
us,  for  long  before  we  reached  an  en- 
trance where  we  could  take  a  car,  we 
were  dead  tired.  We  took  another 
route  going  cityward,  for  we  wanted  to 
see  as  much  of  the  city  as  we  could. 
The  more  we  saw  of  'Frisco,  the  better 
we  liked  it.  It  must  be  seen  to  be  ap- 
preciated. We  reached  Market  Street 
all  right,  and  then  we  knew  where  we 
were.  We  strolled  down  toward  the 
ferry-house,  near  which  we  knew  our 
lodging-house  to  be,  and  after  having  a 
good  supper,  we  went  to  our  room  to 
lay  off  until  evening,  when  there  would 
be  more  sight-seeing. 

"What  do  you  think  of  'Frisco, 
Windy?"  asked  Billy. 

"Suits  me  to  a  T,  Billy.  Believe  I'll 
camp  here  for  a  while." 

"Same  here,  Windy.  I  never  struck 
a  place  I  like  better.  I  think  a  fellow 
can  get  on  here.  I'm  going  to  try  it, 
anyway." 

"I'm  with  you,  Billy,"  said  I. 
"Where'll  we  go  this  evening?" 


59 


"I've  heard  a  lot  about  Chiney  town. 
Suppose  we  go  there." 

"Good  idea !  Let's  take  it  in." 
Accordingly,  about  eight  o'clock  that 
evening  we  strolled  forth,  bent  on  see- 
ing 'Frisco  by  gaslight.  The  streets 
were  well  lighted  and  we  found  no  diffi- 
culty in  moving  about.  By  making  in- 
quiries we  readily  found  our  way  to  the 
Mongolian  district.  What  we  saw  there 
filled  us  with  amazement.  Street  after 
street  we  saw  (and  long  ones  at  that) 
inhabited  solely  by  slanty-eyed*  Asiat- 
ics. There  were  thousands  of  them, 
and  it  seemed  to  us  that  we  were  trans- 
planted into  a  Chinese  city.  All  kinds 
of  Chinese  establishments  were  located 
in  this  quarter;  barber  shops,  drug 
stores,  furnishing  goods  stores,  butcher 
shops,  cigar  manufacturing  establish- 
ments, restaurants  (chop  suey) ,  temples, 
theaters,  opium  joints  in  back  alleys 
and  basements,  street  venders  who  sold 
fruits,  street  cobblers,  open  air  fortune 
tellers,  newspapers,  bookbinderies,  veg- 
etable stores,  and  not  a  few  high-class 
curio  establishments.  Any  number  of 
Chinese  children  were  noisily   playing 


60 


in  the  streets,  Chinese  women  were 
walking  about  the  streets  and  all  over 
the  quarter  was  an  oriental  atmos- 
phere. It  made  us  feel  mighty  foreign- 
like.  Billy  wanted  to  know  whether  he 
was  in  Asia  or  America,  and  I  told  him 
Asia.  The  Chinese  women  and  children 
interested  us  considerably.  The  women 
were  habited  in  loose  flowing  robes  and 
trousers,  arid  their  lips  and  faces  were 
painted  scarlet.  Their  hair  was  done 
up  in  thick  folds,  with  long  golden  pins 
stuck  through  them.  They  were  mighty 
gaudy,  I  thought.  The  kids  were  noisy 
but  interesting.  They  played  all  kinds 
of  games  like  white  children.  Of  course 
the  games  they  played  were  Chinese, 
and  what  kind  of  games  they  were,  I 
don't  know.  The  articles  of  food  and 
wear  displayed  were  very  curious.  So 
were  the  books,  photographs,  etc. 

Billy  and  I  took  in  the  sights,  and 
felt  mighty  interested  in  it  all.  It  was 
better  than  a  circus  to  us.  At  about 
ten  o'clock  we  meandered  homeward. 

We  talked  late  that  night  about  what 
we  had  seen,  and  it  was  after  midnight 
before  we  fell  asleep.    Billy  was  unac- 


61 


countably  restless  that  night  and  kept 
a-tossing  and  a-rolling.  He  kept  this 
up  so  long  that  finally  I  got  huffy  and 
asked  him  what  the  trouble  was.  He 
kept  quiet  for  a  while  but  suddenly  he 

rose  up  and  said  he'd  be  — if  he 

didn't  think  there  were  bugs  in  the  bed. 
I  felt  a  bite  or  two  myself,  but  didn't 
mind  it. 

"I'm  going  to  get  up  and  see  what's 
in  this  bed,"  said  Billy. 

He  got  up,  lit  a  candle,  and  I  hopped 
out  too,  so  as  to  give  him  a  chance  to 
examine  things.  Billy  threw  back  the 
clothes  and  saw  three  or  four  good-sized 
fleas  hopping  about  and  trying  to  es- 
cape to  a  safe  shelter.  We  both  went 
for  them  bodily,  but  they  were  too  swift 
for  us.  We  did  a  pile  of  cussing  and 
swearing  just  then,  but  the  fleas  were 
probably  laughing  at  us  from  some  safe 
retreat.  We  couldn't  catch  a  one  of 
them.  We  went  to  bed  again  and  I  slept 
soundly,  but  Billy  put  in  a  bad  night. 
I  told  Billy  the  next  morning  he  ought- 
n't to  mind  such  trifling  things  as  fleas. 

"Trifles,  are  they?"  snorted  he,  and 
showed  me  his  bare  white  skin,  which 


62 


was  all  eaten  up.  "Look  at  that;  call 
them  trifles?" 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about  it, 
Billy?"  inquired  I. 

"Do?"  retorted  he,  with  disgust, 
"why,  grin  and  bear  it,  of  course ;  what 
else  can  I  do;  but  those  bites  itch  like 
blazes." 

Billy  had  to  do  what  all  'Frisco  peo- 
ple do  when  they  are  bitten — grin  and 
bear  it,  or  cuss  and  scratch.  The 
'Frisco  fleas  sure  are  lively,  and  the 
best  way  to  catch  them  is  to  wet  your 
finger  and  bear  down  on  them  sudden- 
ly. They'll  wiggle  away  from  a  dry 
finger. 

The  next  morning  was  a  fine  one, 
balmy  and  sunny.  We  arose,  dressed, 
breakfasted,  and  then  felt  happy. 

"How  are  we  going  to  put  in  the  day, 
Windy?"  asked  Billy,  after  we  emerged 
from  a  restaurant  and  stood  picking 
our  teeth  in  front  of  the  place. 

"Blest  if  I  know,"  responded  I.  "Sup- 
pose we  put  it  in  sight-seeing?" 

"I'll  go  you,"  said  Billy.  "We  have- 
n't seen  much  of  'Frisco  yet.  Suppose 
we  take  a  stroll  up  Market  Street  and 


63 


see  what  there  is  to  see  up  that  way." 
•  Accordingly,  up  Market  Street    we 
leisurely  strolled,  taking  in  the  sights 
by  the  wayside. 

Market  Street,  as  I  said  before,  is  the 
main  thoroughfare  of  'Frisco,  and  is  a 
broad  one.  The  sidewalks  are  wide 
enough  for  a  dozen  or  more  people  to 
walk  abreast  along  them  and  the  drive- 
way in  the  middle  of  the  street  contains 
twro  or  three  sets  of  street-car  tracks, 
and  sufficient  room  on  either  side  for 
vehicles.  The  lower  portion  of  the 
street,  toward  the  ferry-house,  is  taken 
up  with  wholesale  business  establish- 
ments, and  the  upper  portion  toward 
which  we  were  now  walking  contains 
retail  shops,  high-class  saloons,  restau- 
rants, newspaper  buildings,  sky-scrap- 
ers, banks,  department  stores,  etc.  We 
came  to  Market  and  Third  Street,  and 
turned  down  Third  Street.  It,  too,  was 
rather  a  broad  thoroughfare,  but  not 
nearly  so  wide  as  Market  Street.  It 
wasn't  high-toned  like  Market  Street, 
nor  were  the  buildings  on  it  of  a. high 
class,  for  they  were  mostly  of  frame, 
one  and  two  stories  in    height.      The 


64 


ground  floors  of  these  buildings  were 
used  as  stores  and  the  upper  portions 
as  dwellings.  Fruit,  fish  and  vegetable 
stores  abounded,  and  saloons  were  more 
than  numerous.  The  size  and  varieties 
of  the  fruit,  fish  and  vegetables  in  the 
stores  pleased  the  eye.  Fine  crabs  and 
clams  were  there,  but  the  California 
oysters  seemed  small.  We  stepped  into 
a  saloon  called  "The  Whale,"  where  a 
fine  free  lunch  was  set  out  on  a  side 
table.  There  were  huge  dishes  of  cheese 
on  the  table,  tripe,  various  kinds  of 
sausage  sliced  up  thin,  pickled  tongue, 
radishes,  cold  slaw,  pickles,  sliced  to- 
matoes and  big  trays  of  bread  of  vari- 
ous kinds.  The  layout  was  generous. 
Having  had  breakfast  but  a  short  time 
before,  all  these  dan  ties,  did  not  tempt 
us,  but  we  sat  down  for  awhile  and  in- 
dulged in  a  smoke,  in  the  meanwhile 
observing  the  ways  of  the  patrons  of 
the  place.  Some  seedy  looking  bums 
were  lined  up  against  the  bar  chinning 
whilst  others  were  sipping  beer  and 
paying  their  best  respects  to  the  lunch 
counter.  They  were  a  dirty  lot,  and 
if  some  of  them  weren't  hobos,  I  miss 


65 


my  guess.  We  didn't  remain  in  the 
place  long,  but  strolled  into  a  similar 
establishment  further  on.  In  one  sa- 
loon we  noticed  a  sign  over  the  lunch 
counter  which  informed  the  hungry  one 
to— 

"Please  regulate  your  appetite  ac- 
cording to  your  thirst;  this  is  not  a  res- 
taurant." 

Notwithstanding  the  gentle  hint  con- 
veyed on  the  sign,  the  place  did  a  roar- 
ing trade,  for  the  liquids  as  well  as  the 
solids  were  excellent. 

Beginning  from  Market  and  run- 
ning parallel  with  Market  were  Mis- 
sion, Howard,  Folsom,  Bryant,  Bran- 
nan,  Bluxome,  Townsend,  Channel  and 
other  streets.  Nearly  all  of  them  were 
broad,  but  a  few  were  narrow,  such  as 
Stevenson,  Jessie,  Minna,  Natoma,  Te- 
hama, etc.,  being  hardly  more  than  al- 
leys. This  was  the  poorer  residence 
section,  inhabited  by  the  working 
classes.  Some  of  the  alleys  were  tough 
and  contained  cheap  lodging-houses 
wherein  dwelt  many  a  hard  case  and 
criminal. 


66 


We  walked  down  Third  Street  as  far 
as  the  railroad  depot  and  saw  lots  of 
things  to  interest  us.  ■  All  the  goods  dis- 
played in  the  store  windows  seemed  dirt 
cheap.  How  they  did  tempt  us,  but  as 
we  were  not  overburdened  with  wealth 
just  then  we  didn't  feel  like  buying. 
Silk  pocket  handkerchiefs,  dandy  hats3 
elegant  trousers,  mouth  harmonicas, 
pistols,  knives,  razors,  accordions  were 
there  in  great  variety.  Why  were  we 
born  poor?  Had  we  been  rich  we  would 
have  blowed  ourselves  for  faii;.  The 
display  was  too  tempting.  We  walked 
to  Fourth  Street,  which  is  the  next  one 
to  Third,  and  then  slowly  sauntered  up 
toward  Market  aeain.  The  blocks  along 
Third  and  Fourth  Streets  were  long 
ones,  and  from  Market  Street  down  to 
the  railroad  depot  the  distance  is  a  mile 
or  more.  But  we  were  not  tired,  so  on 
we  kent.  Fourth  Street  was  about  like 
Third  Street,  and  afforded  many  inter- 
esting sights.  Billy  and  me  liked  every- 
thing we  saw.  When  we  finally  reached 
Market  Street  again  we  crossed  it  and 
took  in  another  quarter  of  the  city. 
Where  we  had  been  was  called  south  of 


67 


Market;  so  this  must  be  north  of  Mar- 
ket. We  didn't  like  it  half  as  well  as 
we  did  south  of  Market.  Here  were 
pretentious  shops  and  restaurants,  and 
a  fine  class  of  dwellings,  but  even  here 
the  buildings  were  all  of  wood  and 
hardly  two  were  alike.  In  this  quarter 
is  located  what  is  called  "The  Tender- 
loin/' which  means  gambling  joints, 
fast  houses  and  the  like.  We,  being 
strangers,  could  not  locate  them.  It  was 
now  nearing  noon  and  as  we  had  be- 
come hungry,  we  concluded  to  step  into 
a  saloon  to  have  a  beer  and  a  free 
lunch,  but  the  free  lunch  establishments 
in  that  neighborhood  seemed  few  and 
far  between.  Some  saloons  had  signs 
on  them  which  stated  that  free  clam 
chowder,  beef  stew,  roasted  clams,  or 
a  ham  sandwich  with  every  drink  was 
to  be  had  today,  but  those  were  not  the 
kind  of  a  place  we  were  after.  We  were 
looking  for  some  place  like  "The 
Whale,"  but  couldn't  find  one.  We 
finally  got  tired  of  hunting  for  such  a 
place,  and  stepped  into  a  ten-cent  res- 
taurant, where  we  had  a  bum  meal. 
After  dining  we  strolled  back  to  our 


6$ 


lodging-house,  where  we  laid  off  the 
rest  of  the  day. 

"What'll  it  be  tonight;  a  ten-cent 
show  or  Chinatown  once  more?" 

"A  ten-cent  show,"  answered  Billy; 
"we  did  Chinatown  last  night,  and  can 
do  it  again  some  other  night,  so  let's 
take  in  a  show." 

Accordingly  we  went  to  a  fine  big 
theater  that  evening  where  the  prices 
ranged  from  ten  to  fifty  cents,  and 
went  up  to  "nigger  heaven"  (price  ten 
cents),  from  whence  we  saw  a  pretty 
fair  variety  show.  The  show  consisted 
of  singing,  dancing,  moving  pictures,  a 
vaudeville  play,  negro  act,  monologue 
speaker  and  an  acrobatic  act.  The  per- 
formance lasted  about  two  hours.  The 
negro  act  made  Billy  laugh  until  he 
nearly  grew  sick,  and  we  both  enjoyed 
ourselves  hugely.  One  singer,  an  Aus- 
tralian gentleman,  sang  the  "Holy  City," 
and  he  sang  it  so  well  that  he  was  re- 
called many  times.  The  little  vaude- 
ville play  was  good,  and  so  were  the 
moving  pictures.  It  was  about  ten 
o'clock  when  the  play  let  out,  and  it 


69 


was  after  midnight  when  Billy  and  I 
turned  in. 

We  continued  our  sightseeing  tour 
about  a  week  and  saw  about  all  worth 
seeing  of  'Frisco,  and  then  as  funds  be- 
gan to  run  low,  we  concluded  it  was 
about  time  for  us  to  look  for  work.  I 
struck  a  job  as  helper  in  a  foundry  the 
very  next  day,  but  Billy  was  not  so  for- 
tunate. He  did  not  find  a  job  for  sev- 
eral days.  Of  course  I  went  "snucks" 
with  him  when  he  wasn't  working,  and 
saw  to  it  that  he  had  a  bed  to  sleep  in 
and  something  to  eat,  for  he  would  have 
done  as  much  for  me. 

Billy  struck  a  job  a  few  days  after- 
ward and  it  was  one  that  seemed  to 
please  him  mightily.  It  was  in  a  swell 
hotel  run  by  an  Englishman  and  Billy 
was  installed  as  pantryman.  His  duties 
were  to  take  good  care  of  and  clean  the 
glassware  and  silverware.  The  job 
was  an  easy  one,  with  the  pay  fairly 
good.  Billy  said  it  was  like  getting 
money  from  home.  He  worked  from 
seven  o'clock  in  the  morning  until  eight 
at  night,  and  had  three  hours  off  in  the 
afternoon.    The  waiters  took  a  shine  to 


70 


him,  for  they,  like  himself,  were  Eng- 
lish, and  brought  him  all  kinds  of  good 
things  to  eat  in  the  pantry,  which  was 
his  headquarters. 

They  brought  him  oysters,  roast  fowl 
of  various  kinds,  game,  ice  cream, 
water  ices,  plum  pudding,  the  choicest 
of  wines,  etc.,  and  were  sociable  enough 
to  help  Billy  eat  and  drink  these  things. 
No  one  molested  them  so  long  as  they 
did  their  work,  for  the  cast-off  victuals 
would  have  gone  into  the  swill-barrel, 
anyway.  Billy  was  in  clover  and  had 
the  best  opportunity  in  the  world  to 
grow  stout  on  "the  fat  of  the  land."  I 
was  glad  to  know  that  he  was  getting 
along  so  well  for  he  sure  was  a  true  and 
steady  little  pard. 

One  night,  several  weeks  after  this, 
when  we  were  in  our  room  chinning,  I 
remarked  to  Billy:  "Say,  Billy,  you 
have  told  me  so  much  about  the  old 
country  that  I've  a  notion  to  go  there." 

Billy  looked  at  me  keenly  to  see  if  I 
was  joking,  but  I  wasn't.  "I  mean  it, 
Billy,"  said  I.  "I've  always  had  a  no- 
tion that  I'd  like  to  see  the  old  country, 


71 


and  if  you  can  get  along  here  I  guess 
I  can  get  along  over  there." 

"You're  way  off,  Windy,"  replied 
Billy,  "the  old  country  is  different  from 
this,  in  every  way." 

"In  what  way." 

"Why,  you  can't  beat  your  way  over 
there  as  you  can  here,  and  you  couldn't 
earn  as  much  there  in  a  week  as  you 
can  here  in  a  day.  And  the  ways  of 
people  are  different,  too.  Stay  where 
you  are,  Windy;  that's  my  advice  to 
you." 

"You  say  I  can't  beat  my  way  in  the 
old  country,  Billy;  why  not?"  asked  I. 

"You'll  get  pinched  the  first  thing,  if 
you  try  it.  In  the  first  place  there  are  no 
railroad  trains  running  across  to  Eu- 
rope, so  how  are  you  going  to  cross  the 
little  duck  pond;  swim  across?" 

"How  do  others  cross  it;  can't  I  ride 
over  in  a  boat?" 

"Of  course  you  can  but  it  will  cost 
you  lots  of  money,  and  where  are  you 
going  to  get  it?" 

"What's  the  matter  with  earning  it 
or  getting  a  job  on  a  steamer;  didn't 
you  do  it?" 


72 


"Of  course  I  did;  but  the  steamship 
companies  hire  their  help  on  the  other 
side  of  the  ocean,  not  on  this  side." 

"Go  on,  Billy;  you  are  giving  me  a 
fairy  tale." 

"No,  I'm  not,"  earnestly  responded 
Billy;  "it's  true  as  preaching." 

I  doubted  just  the  same. 

"You  say  I  can't  beat  my  way  when 
I  get  across  to  Europe;  why  not?" 

"Because  they  won't  let  you.  The 
towns  are  close  together,  for  the  coun- 
try is  small,  and  if  you  beat  your  way 
on  a  train  you'd  be  spotted  before  you 
traveled  ten  miles.  And  another  thing, 
there  are  no  brake-beams  on  the  other 
side,  no  blind  baggage  and  no  bumpers, 
so  where  are  you  going  to  ride?  And 
another  thing,  too;  the  railway  cars 
over  there  are  totally  different  from 
those  here.  The  coaches  are  different, 
the  engines  are  different,  the  freight 
cars  are  different ;  everything  is  so  dif- 
ferent," said  Billy  with  a  reminiscent 
smile. 

"Go  on,  Billy;  you're  only  talking  to 
hear  yourself  talk,"  said  I,  thinking  he 
was  romancing. 


73 


"You  say,  Billy,"  continued  I,  "that 
the  ways  of  the  people  are  different  over 
there;  in  what  way?" 

"In  every  way.  I  couldn't  begin  to 
explain  it  all  to  you,  if  I  tried  six 
months." 

"They  talk  English  over  there,  don't 
they?    Can't  I  talk  English?" 

"Of  course  you  can,"  laughed  Billy; 
"but  their  language  is  different  from 
yours  and  so  are  their  ways.  Their 
victuals  are  different;  their  dress,  their 
politics — " 

"Cut  out  the  politics,  Billy;  I  ain't 
going  over  there  to  run  for  office.  They 
must  be  a  queer  lot  on  the  other  side  of 
the  pond  to  judge  from  what  you  say." 

"Not  a  bit  queer,"  warmly  responded 
Billy.  "They  are  just  different,  that  is 
all.  We  will  suppose  you  are  over  there, 
Windy.    What  will  you  do?" 

"Do  the  Britishers,  of  course;  what 
else?" 

"Better  stay  at  home  and  do  your 
own  countrymen.  You'll  find  it  easier," 
gravely  admonished  Billy.  "You  are  on 
your  own  ground  and  know  the  coun- 
try and  the  ways  of  the  people.    You'd 


74 


have  a  hard  time  of  it  over  there ;  mind 
now,  I'm  giving  it  to  you  straight.  I 
don't  think  you're  serious  about  going." 

"Serious  and  sober  as  a  judge,  Billy. 
I've  been  thinking  about  this  thing  for 
a  long  time.  Let  me  tell  you  something 
else,  Billy,  that  I  haven't  told  you  be- 
fore. I  intend  to  keep  a  diary  when  I 
get  on  the  other  side  and  write  down 
everything  I  see  worth  noting." 

"The  hell  you  are,"  profanely  re- 
sponded Billy;  "what  are  you  going  to 
do  with  it  after  it  is  written  down?" 

"Have  it  printed  in  a  book,"  calmly 
responded  I. 

Billy  regarded  me  intently,  as  a  dog 
does  a  human  being  whom  he  is  trying 
to  understand  and  cannot,  and  then 
when  the  full  force  of  my  revelation 
struck  him  he  dropped  on  the  bed  and 
lauehed  and  laughed  until  I  thought 
he'd  split  his  sides. 

"What's  tickling  you,  Billy?"  asked 
I,  grinning,  for  his  antics  made  me 
laugh. 

"You — you — "  here  he  went  off  into 
another  fit.  "You  write  a  book?  Say, 
Windy,  I've  been  traveling  with  you  a 


75 


long  while  but  I  never  suspected  you 
were  touched  in  the  upper  story." 

-"No  more  touched  than  you  are, 
Billy,"  said  I  indignantly.  Billy  rose 
up. 

"So  you're  going  to  write  a  book, 
eh?"  asked  Billy,  stiHl  laughing.  "Do  you 
know  anything  about  grammar,  geog- 
raphy or  composition?" 

"You  bet  I  do,  Billy;  I  was  pretty 
fair  at  composition  when  I  was  at 
school,  but  I  always  hated  grammar 
and  don't  know  much  about  it." 

"That  settles  it,"  said  Billy.  "How 
could  you  write  a  book  if  you  don't 
know  anything  about  grammar?" 

"That  stumps  me,  Billy,  but  I  guess 
the  printer  can  help  me  out." 

"The  printer  ain't  paid  for  doing 
that  sort  of  thing;  he  won't  help  you 
out." 

"The  h he  won't,"  responded  I, 

angrily;  "that's  what  he's  paid  for, 
isn't  it?" 

"I  don't  think,"  said  Billy.  "Say, 
Windy,  you're  clean  off.  Better  turn  in 
and  sleep  over  it." 

"Sleep  over    nothing,"    quickly    re- 


76 


torted  I ;  "am  I  the  first  man  who  ever 
wrote  a  book?" 

"No,  you  ain't  the  first,  nor  the  last 
damn  fool  who  has  tried  it." 

"Now,  see  here,  Billy,"  said  I,  get- 
ting heated,  "let  me  tell  you  something. 
I've  read  a  whole  lot  of  books  in  my 
time,  and  a  good  many  of  them  weren't 
worth  hell  room.  I've  read  detective 
stories  that  were  written  by.  fellows 
that  didn't  know  anything  about  the 
detective  business.  Look  at  all  the 
biood-and-thunder  novels  will  you,  that 
are  turned  out  every  year  by  the  hun- 
dred. Not  a  word  in  them  is  true,  yet 
lots  of  people  read  them.  Why?  Be- 
cause they  like  them.  See  what  kids 
read,  will  you?  All  about  cowboys, 
Indians,  scalping,  buffalo  hunting,  the 
Wild  West,  etc.  After  the  kids  read 
such  books  they  get  loony  and  want  to 
go  on  scalping  expeditions  themselves, 
so  they  steal  money,  run  away  from 
home,  buy  scalping  knives,  pistols  and 
ammunition,  and  play  hell  generally. 
My  book  ain't  that  kind.  When  I  write 
a  book  it  will  contain  the  truth,  the 
whole  truth  and  nothing  but  the  truth." 


-'So  help  you -,"  irreverently  put 

in  Billy. 

"No  foolishness,  Billy;  I'm  serious." 

"Oh,  you  are,  are  you?"  answered 
Billy;  "well,  let's  hear  something  seri- 
ous, then." 

"Did  you  ever  read  the  life  of  the 
James  boys,  Billy?" 

"No,  I  never  did?  Who  were  they?" 

"They  were  outlaws  and  robbers, 
and  the  book  I  read  about  them  was  the 
most  interesting  one  I  ever  read.  It  was 
all  facts,  solid  facts,  and  no  nonsense 
about  it.  That's  what  I  want  to  write, 
solid  facts." 

"About  the  James  boys?" 

"No,  you  little  ignoramus;  about 
what  I  see  in  the  old  country." 

"There  are  many  smarter  men  than 
you  are  that  have  written  books  about 
the  old  country,  Windy,  and  some  of 
these  writers  were  English  and  some 
were  American.  Are  you  going  to  go 
in  opposition  to  them?" 

"Opposition  your  grandmother ! 
Haven't  I  got  as  good  a  right  to  write 
a  book  as  anyone  else?" 

"Who  says  you  haven't?    After  you 


78 


get  the  book  printed  who's  going  to  sell 

it  for  you;  going  around  peddling  it?" 

"No,  I  expect  the  printer   to   print 

what  I  write,  and  buy  the  book  from 


me." 


"Who  gets  all  the  money  from  the 
sale  of  the  book?"  asked  Billy,  with  a 
huge  grin  on  his  face. 

"Why,  I  expect  that  the  printer  and 
me'U  go  snucks.  He  gets  half  for  print- 
ing it,  and  I  get  half  for  writing  it." 

"Oh,  that's  the  game,  is  it?  I  think 
you'll  have  a  sweet  time  of  it  finding  a 
printer  on  that  sort  of  a  deal." 

"Don't  you  think  that  would  be  a  fair 
divvy?" 

"No,  the  printer  is  taking  all  the 
chances  and  you're  taking  none.  He 
puts  up  the  dough  and  what  do  you  put 
up?" 

"My  time  and  ability." 

"Your  ability!"  shouted  Billy  as  he 
went  off  into  a  spasm ;  "well,  you've 
got  lots  of  time,  but  I  never  know'd  you 
had  any  ability." 

"Laugh  away,  old  boy,"  said  I,  con- 
siderably nettled;  "it  takes  ability  to 
write  a  book." 


"Of  course  it  does,"  said  Billy,  mean- 
ingly. 

"Maybe  you  think  I  ain't  got  any?" 

"Maybe  you  have,  but  you'll  have  to 
show  me." 

"Well,  Billy,"  said  I,  "we've  dis- 
cussed this  matter  long  enough;  sup- 
pose we  go  to  bed." 

Nothing  more  was  said  on  the  sub- 
ject that  night.  The  next  morning  we 
went  to  our  separate  jobs  as  usual,  and 
I  did  a  good  deal  of  thinking  during 
the  day  over  some  of  the  information 
Billy  had  given  me  about  the  old  coun- 
try. It  made  me  waver  at  times  about 
going,  but  at  other  times  it  did  not. 
That  night,  after  we  came  home  from 
work,  Billy  and  me  took  a  stroll  as 
usual  through  Chinatown,  and  every 
time  we  went  through  it  we  found 
something  new  to  see.  The  streets  were 
always  thronged  with  celestials  and 
sightseers,  the  stores  of  the  Chinese  and 
Japanese  were  all  lit  up,  the  queer  goods 
in  the  windows  still  riveted  our  atten- 
tion and  the  ways  of  the  orientals 
proved  a  source  of  never-ending  inter- 
est to  us.    There  were  several  Chinese 


80 


theaters  in  the  quarter,  too,  in  which 
the  beating  of  gongs  and  the  "high- 
toned"  singing  could  plainly  be  heard 
by  us,  but  as  the  admission  fees  to  these 
theaters  to  the  "Melican  man"  was 
fifty  cents,  we  didn't  go  in.  Some  of 
the  plays  lasted  about  six  weeks. 

We  were  strolling  along  quietly  en- 
joying ourselves,  when  suddenly  Billy 
banteringly  remarked:  "By  the  way, 
Windy,  when  are  you  going  to  take  that 
little  flier  across  the  duck-pond?" 

"Don't  know,  Billy;  haven't  decided 

yet." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  with  all 
the  money  you  make  out  of  that  book 
of  yourn?" 

"Never  you  mind,  Billy;  I'm  going  to 
write  the  book  just  the  same;  don't  you 
worry  about  that." 

"I  suppose  you'll  get  rich  some  day, 
and  cut  me  the  first  thing.  Fellers  who 
write  books  make  lots  of  money.  I  sup- 
pose you'll  buy  a  mansion  on  Nob  Hill, 
have  a  coach  and  four  with  a  coachman 
in  livery  on  the  box  and  the  regulation 
flunkey  behind.     Maybe    you'll    drive 


81 


tandem  and  handle  the  ribbons  your- 
self?" 

"Stop  roasting  me,  Billy;  let  up!" 

But  Billy  continued  mercilessly;  "Of 
course  you'll  have  a  box  at  the  opera, 
wear  a  claw  hammer  coat  and  a  plug 
hat,  put  on  white  kids  and  take  your 
lady-love  to  a  little  supper  after  the 
play  is  over.  Be  lots  of  champagne 
flowing  about  that  time,  eh?" 

"Let  up,  you  darned  little  Britisher," 
said  I  laughing.  "Greater  things  than 
that  have  come  to  pass.  I'll  cut  you, 
the  first  thing,  Billy." 

"I  knew  it.  Rich  people  ain't  got 
any  use  for  their  poor  friends  or  rela- 
tions. 

"Which  bank  will  you  put  your 
money  in?" 

"Haven't  decided  yet:  ain't  going  to 
let  that  worry  me." 

"Maybe  you'll  fall  in  love  with  some 
girl  and  get  married.  When  a  feller 
has  money  he'll  do  fool  things." 

"The  girl  I  marry  will  have  to  be  a 
pretty  good  looker,  and  will  have  to 
have  a  little  money  of  her  own,"  re- 
sponded I. 


82 


"Of  course,  Windy;  I'm  glad  to  see 
you've  got  some  sense.  After  that  old 
country  trip  yarn  of  yours  I  didn't 
think  you  had  any." 

"No  yarn  about  it,  Billy;  I'm  going." 

"Where  to?" 

"To  the  old  country." 

"When?" 

"Oh,  you're  asking  me  too  many  ques- 
tions. Better  go  to  the  old  country  with 
me,  Billy." 

"Not  I,  Windy;  I've  been  there  and 
know  what  it  is.  I'll  never  return  to  it 
until  I'm  rich." 

"Hope  that'll  be  soon,  Billy." 

"So  do  I,  Windy;  but  it  don't  look 
that  way  now." 

"Can  you  blame  me  for  trying  to 
make  a  stake?"  asked  I. 

"Blame  you,  no;  but  you'll  never 
make  a  stake  writing  a  book." 

"Faint  heart  never  won  a  fair  lady, 
mY  boy,  and  I'm  going  to  try  it,  if  it 
takes  a  leg  off." 

"I  believe  you  are  serious,  Windy;  I 
thought  you  were  kiddin' !" 

"Kiddin'  nothing;  I  was  serious  from 
the  go-off."  i  j 


83 


"Well,  Windy,  old  pard,  I  wish  you 
luck  but  it  don't  look  to  me  as  if  you'd 
make  it.    Too  big  a  contract." 

"Time  will  tell." 

We  had  many  another  talk  on  the 
subject,  Billy  bantering  me  every  time, 
for  he  either  couldn't  or  wouldn't  be- 
lieve I  was  serious.  We  had  been  to- 
gether so  long,  that  he  was  loath  to  be- 
lieve I  would  desert  him. 

One  evening  when  I  came  home  from 
work  I  informed  Billy  that  I  had  made 
up  my  mind  positively  to  start  out  on 
my  trip  at  the  end  of  the  week.  You 
should  have  seen  him  when  I  told  him 
this.  At  first  he  argued,  then,  seeing 
that  did  no  good,  he  called  me  all  kinds 
of  a  fool,  and  cursed  and  fumed.  He 
finally  told  me  to  go  to  hades  if  I  wished, 
for  he  had  no  strings  on  me.  He  didn't 
care  a  tinker's  damn  how  soon  I  went,  or 
what  became  of  me.  He  hoped  I'd  get 
drowned,  or,  if  not  that,  then  pinched 
as  soon  as  I  set  foot  on  British  soil.  The 
little  fellow  was  badly  wrought  up.  I 
informed  him  it  was  my  intention  to 
beat  my  way  to  New  York  and  that 
when  I  got  that  far,  I  would  plan  the 


84 


next  move.  I  told  him  also  that  I  didn't 
believe  in  crossing  a  river  until  I  got  to 
it,  and  that  I  would  find  some  means  of 
crossing  the  ocean.  He  sarcastically  ad- 
vised me  again  to  swim  across,  but  I 
took  no  heed.  We  parted  the  next  morn- 
ing and  I  knew  Billy  felt  sore,  but  he 
didn't  show  it.  He  told  me  that  he  should 
remain  in  'Frisco,  and  that  I  would  find 
him  there  when  I  came  back,  that  is,  if 
"  I  ever  came  back. 

"Oh,  I'll  come  back,  my  boy;  never 
fear." 

"And  mind  what  I  told  you  about  my 
folks.  If  you  go  to  London  they  live  only 
a  short  way  from  there,  and  if  you  see 
them  tell  them  all  about  me." 

"I'll  do  it,  old  pard,  and  write  you 
everything,"  responded  I. 

"Good-bye,  then,  Windy,  and  don't 
take  in  any  bad  money  while  you're 
gone,"  was  Billy's  parting  bit  of  advice. 

I  felt  bad,  too,  but  didn't  show  it.  I 
was  leaving  the  true-heartedest  little 
fellow  that  ever  lived,  but  the  best  of 
friends  must  part  sometimes. 


85 


CHAPTER  III. 
THE  JOURNEY  OVERLAND. 

The  distance  from  'Frisco  to  New 
York  overland,  is  over  three  thousand 
miles,  and  by  water  it  is  much  more 
than  that,  but  such  little  trips  are  a 
trifle  to  me,  as  they  are  to  every  well- 
conditioned  wayfarer.  I  started  out 
happily  enough  one  fine  day  at  dawn  to 
make  the  long  journey  and  though  I  did 
feel  a  qualm  or  two  the  first  few  days 
after  leaving  Billy,  the  feeling  soon 
wore  off.  I  chose  the  central  route, 
which  is  the  shortest  via  Sacramento, 
Reno,  Ogden,  Omaha,  Chicago,  Niagara 
Falls  and  New  York,  and  I  anticipated 
having  lots  of  fun  along  the  way.  I  was 
out  for  sight-seeing  and  adventure  and 
believed  I  would  have  a  good  time.  I 
didn't  have  any  money  to  speak  of,  for, 
though  I  had  worked  several  months  I 
had  saved  nothing.  Anyway,  it  wasn't 
safe  to  travel  hobo  style  with  money,  for 
if  anyone  suspects  you  have  any,  it  may 
be  possible  that  you'll  get  knocked  on 
the  head  or  murdered  outright  for   it. 


86 


Such  things  are  a  common  occurrence. 

I  got  as  far  as  Sacramento  in  good 
shape  and  when  the  freight  train  I  was 
riding  on  got  to  Newcastle,  which  is  a 
town  in  the  foothills  of  the  Sierra  moun- 
tains, a  long  halt  was  made  to  attach  a 
number  of  refrigerator  cars  to  it. 
These  cars  were  laden  with  fruit.  Had 
I  wished  I  could  have  crawled  into  one 
of  them  and  made  the  journey  east  in 
ten  days,  or  less,  for  they  are  laden  with 
perishable  goods  and  travel  as  fast,  al- 
most, as  a  passenger  train,  but  I  didn't 
care  to  travel  that  way,  for  the  reason 
that  I  didn't  like  it.  These  refrigerator 
cars  have  heavy  air-tight  doors  at  the 
sides  which  are  hermetically  sealed 
when  the  cars  are  loaded,  making  the 
cars  as  dark  as  a  pocket.  When  in  them 
one  can't  see  anything  and  can  hardly 
turn  around.  There  are  no  conven- 
iences whatever.  One  must  take  a  suffi- 
ciency of  supplies  with  him  to  last  dur- 
ing the  trip  in  the  shape  of  food  and 
water,  and  one  must  go  unwashed  and 
unkempt  during  the  journey.  Lots  of 
hobos  travel  that  way,  and  think  noth- 
ing of  it,  but  I  didn't  care  to  do  so.    It 


87 


is  almost  as  bad,  if  not  worse,  than 
being  in  jail,  for  one  can  take  little  or 
no  exercise,  and  the  only  light  and  ven- 
tilation afforded  is  from  the  roof,  where 
there  is  an  aperture  about  two  feet 
wide,  over  which  there  is  a  sliding  door. 
This  can  be  shoved  up  or  down,  but  it 
rs  usually  locked  when  the  train  is  en 
route.  The  cars  must  be  kept  at  an  even 
temperature  always,  and  must  not  be 
too  hot  or  too  cold.  A  certain  number 
of  tons  of  ice  is  put  into  a  compartment 
at  either  end  of  the  car,  which  keeps 
the  temperature  even.  The  side  doors, 
as  I  said,  are  hermetically  closed  and 
sealed.  Thus  the  fruits,  meats,  vege- 
tables or  whatever  the  car  mav  contain, 
are  kept  fresh  and  sweet.  I  slipped  into 
one  of  these  loaded  cars  and  had  a  look 
around,  but  one  survey  was  enough  for 
me.  I  didn't  like  the  prospect  at  all. 
Ten  days  of  imprisonment  was  too 
much. 

Any  hobo  may  ride  over  the  Sierra 
Nevada  Mountains  as  far  as  Reno 
without  being  molested,  for  it  is  a 
rule  of  the  Southern  Pacific  Railroad 
Company     not     to     incur     their     ill- 


will.  Some  hobos  have  been  known 
to  set  fire  to  the  snow  sheds  in  re- 
venge for  being  put  off  a  train  in  the 
lonely  mountains.  Fires  occur  in  the 
snow-sheds  every  year,  but  of  course  it 
is  hard  to  tell  who  or  what  starts  a  fire. 
The  sheds  are  of  wood  and  have  always 
had  to  be  rebuilt,  for  without  them  th.e 
road  would  be  blocked  every  winter  and 
traffic  stopped.  There  are  miles  of  them 
and  wonderful  creations  they  are.  They 
are  roofed  over  and  very  strongly  built. 
I  held  down  the  freight  train  until  we 
reached  Reno,  where  I  was  glad  to  hop 
off  for  rest  and  refreshment.  Refresh- 
ments of  all  kinds  are  plentiful  in  Reno. 
The  railroad  runs  through  the  main 
street  of  the  town  and  the  town  is  a 
wide  open  one.  Across  the  track  along 
the  main  street  are  restaurants,  sa- 
loons and  gambling  houses.  The  gam- 
bling is  not  done  secretly  for  it  is  li- 
censed and  anyone  may  play  who 
wishes.  One  may  step  into,  at  least,  one 
of  these  places  from  the  street,  for  the 
gambling  room  is  on  the  ground  floor. 
It  is  a  handsomely  appointed  apart- 
ment.    The  floors  are  of  marble,    the 


89 


drinking  bar  is  elaborate,  the  fittings 
superb.  In  front,  as  you  enter,  is  the 
bar  and  behind  it  a  back  bar  with  the 
finest  of  glassware.  The  liquors  are  of 
excellent  quality.  Opposite  the  bar,  near 
the  wall,  are  faro  and  crap  tables.  At 
the  rear  of  the  long  apartment  is  a 
horseshoe  shaped  lunch  counter,  where 
the  best  the  market  affords  can  be  had 
at  reasonable  rates.  The  bar  and  res- 
taurant are  patronized  by  gamblers  and 
by  outsiders  who  never  gamble.  Any- 
one over  the  age  of  twenty-one  may 
step  inside  and  play,  and  no  questions 
are  asked.  The  crap  game  is  interest- 
ing. It  is  played  with  dice  and  anyone 
may  throw  the  dice.  The  way  some  fel- 
lows throw  them  would  make  a  horse 
laugh.  Some  throw  them  with  a  run- 
ning fire  of  conversation,  their  eyes 
blazing  with  excitement.  Others,  like 
the  coons,  keep  a  saying  as  they  throw 
the  dice,  "Come  seben,  come  eleben!" 
"What  you  doin'  dar?"  "Roll  right  dis 
time  for  me  you  son  of  — "  etc.,  etc.  It 
is  interesting  to  watch  the  players. 
Many  refined  men  visit  these  places  and 
sometimes  take  a   little   flyer.     These 


90 


men  are  qijiet,  open-handed  fellows, 
who  seem  to  regard  their  little  indul- 
gence in  the  play  as  a  joke,  whether 
they  win  or  lose.  They  seem  to  have 
plenty  of  money  and  don't  care — at 
least  one  would  judge  so  from  their 
manner.  While  observing  them  I 
thought  it  must  be  a  fine  thing  to  have 
plenty  of  money,  so  as  not  to  care 
whether  you  win  or  lose. 

Westerners,  as  a  rule,  are  free  and 
generous,  and  seem  to  be  just  as  ready 
to  spend  their  money  as  they  are  to 
earn  it. 

Bootblacks,  waiters,  cooks,  newsboys 
and  all  sorts  of  men  are  always  ready 
and  willing  to  take  a  chance  in  the 
games.  Sometimes  they  win  and  some- 
times they  lose,  but  win  or  lose  they  are 
always  ready  to  try  their  luck  again. 

Another  gaming  place  I  went  into 
was  situated  on  the  first  floor  above  the 
street  in  a  building  facing  the  railroad, 
and  it,  too,  was  palatial.  On  the 
ground  floor  was  the  saloon  and  above 
were  the  gambling  rooms.  A  pretty 
tough  crowd  was  in  them  at  the  time 
of  my  visit  and  the  crowd  was  so  dense 


91 


it  was  rather  difficult  to  move  about.  I 
was  jostled  considerably  and  found  it 
difficult  to  get  near  the  gaming  tables. 
Craps  and  roulette  were  the  main 
games  here,  too. 

Fights  and  shooting  scrapes  are  com- 
mon in  the  gambling  places,  but  the 
Reno  officers  are  alert  and  fearless,  and 
soon  put  obstreperous  people  where  the 
dogs  won't  bite  them. 

Notwithstanding  its  gambling  and 
recklessness,  Reno  is  a  good  business 
town,  and  full  of  orderly,  respectable 
people.  There  are  many  wholesale  and 
retail  establishments  in  the  town;  ice 
plants,  machine  shops,  breweries,  ore 
reduction  works  and  lumber  yards.  Be- 
sides, it  is  a  great  cattle  shipping  center. 

Many  of  the  streets  are  broad  and 
well-shaded,  and  the  Truckee  River, 
in  which  are  any  number  of  speckled 
beauties  in  the  shape  of  mountain  trout, 
flows  through  the  town.  Surrounding 
Reno  are  tall  mountains  which  form  a 
part  of  the  Sierra  Nevada  range,  but 
they  seem  bare  and  lonely. 

I  landed  in  Reno  during  the  after- 
noon   and    steered    straight    for    the 


92 


Truckee  River,  as  I  needed  a  bath.  I 
quickly  espied  a  sequestered  nook  under 
a  wagon-bridge  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
town,  and  from  the  looks  of  things  in 
the  vicinity  could  tell  that  it  was  a  hobo 
camping  place.  Old  tin  cans  were 
strewn  about,  and  down  the  bank  near 
the  water  was  a  fireplace  made  of 
stones.  One  lone  Wandering  Willie  was 
in  camp  and  he  greeted  me  as  effusively 
as  if  I  were  a  long-lost  brother.  A  hobo 
can  tell  another  hobo  at  a  glance. 

"Hello,  pardner;  how's  tricks?"  was 
the  greeting  of  my  fellow  wayfarer. 

"Fair  to  middlin',"  responded  I. 

"Where  you  bound  for?" 

"Just  got  to  Reno;  and  I  am  going  to 
hold  the  town  down  for  a  while,"  said  I. 
I  was  cautious  and  didn't  want  this 
chance  acquaintance  to  know  too  much 
about  my  affairs. 

"Where'd  you  come  from?"  in- 
quired I. 

Me?  Oh,  I've  been  hittin'  the  line 
all  the  way  from  Bloomington,  Illinoi', 
and  I'm  going  to  take  a  flier  to  the 
Coast. 


93 


"You  are,  hey?  I  just  came  from 
there." 

"The  hell  you  did;  how's  things  out 
that  way?" 

"Fine  and  dandy;  ever  been  there?" 

"No,"  laconically  answered  the  chap 
and  began  to  question  me  about  the 
Coast. 

I  gave  him  all  the  information  I  could 
and  then  told  him  I  was  going  to  take 
a  wash-down.  He  had  just  done  the 
same  and  as  he  seemed  anxious  to  go 
to  town  he  soon  left  me.  I  stripped  and 
had  a  glorious  bath  in  the  cool,  swift- 
flowing  river.  The  river  was  neither 
broad  nor  very  deep  but  so  clear  that  I 
could  see  every  stone  at  the  bottom  of  it. 
Not  a  fish  could  I  see  but  doubtless  they 
were  plentiful.  After  the  clean-up  I 
leisurely  strolled  along  the  railroad 
track  into  town  and  steered  for  a  res- 
taurant, where  I  had  a  good  supper  for 
twenty-five  cents.  I  then  lit  my  pipe 
and  strolled  about  taking  in  the  sights. 

I  remained  in  Reno  a  day  or  two,  and 
did  not  find  time  hanging  heavy  on  my 
hands.  There -are  extensive  cattle  cor- 
rals about  half  a  mile  from  the  town 


94 


where  I  put  in  a  whole  afternoon  watch- 
ing the  loading  of  cattle  into  cars. 

It  was  better  than  seeing  a  circus.  A 
chute  ran  from  the  corral  to  the  car  to 
be  loaded  $nd  the  animals  were  made 
to  walk  the  plank  in  great  shape.  No 
harm  was  done  them  unless  they  grew 
obstreperous,  in  which  case  there  was  a 
great  deal  of  tail  twisting  done,  punch- 
ing in  the  ribs  with  long  poles,  yelling 
and  shouting,  which  soon  brought  a 
refractory  animal  to  terms. 

The  railroad  depot  in  Reno  is  a  live- 
ly spot,  too. 

The  S.  P.  R.  R.  trains  and  the  Vir- 
ginia &  Truckee  Railroad  use  the  same 
depot,  and  at  train  times  there  is  al- 
ways a  sizeable  crowd  on  hand.  The 
Virginia  &  Truckee  road,  which  goes 
from  Reno  to  Virginia  City,  a  distance 
of  about  sixty  miles,  is  said  to  be  the 
crookedest  road  in  the  country.  It  winds 
around  bare  mountain  sides  to  a  great 
height  and  is  continually  going  upward. 
It  was  built  in  the  early  Bonanza  min- 
ing days  when  times  were  flush  and  is 
said  to  have  cost  a  lot  of  *money.  It  has 
paid  for  itself  many  times  over  and  was 


95 


a  great  help  to  Gold  Hill,  Carson  and 
Virginia  City.  Although  it  has  been  in 
existence  over  a  quarter  of  a  century 
and  though  it  winds  over  almost  inac- 
cessible mountain  peaks,  not  a  human 
life  up  to  the  writing  of  this  book 
(1907)  has  ever  been  lost  on  this  road. 

Indians  may  ride  on  the  road  free, 
and  as  they  are  aware  of  the  fact,  hard- 
ly a  day  passes  but  they  may  be  seen 
in  the  smoking  car  or  on  the  platform 
of  a  car  taking  a  little  flier  to  Carson, 
Virginia  City,  Washoe,  Steamboat 
Springs  or  any  other  place  along  the 
line  they  care  to  go  to.  There  is  a  State 
law  in  Nevada  which  permits  any  In- 
dian to  ride  free  on  any  railroad.  What 
the  object  of  this  law  is,  I  don't  know. 

I  noticed  that  the  passenger  trains 
going  eastward  over  the  S.  P.  R.  R. 
leave  Reno  between  eight  and  nine 
o'clock  at  night,  so  I  concluded  to  beat 
my  way  out  of  town  on  one  of  them.  I 
noticed  that  others  did  it  and  that  it  was 
easy.  All  a  fellow  had  to  do  was  to  let 
the  train  eet  a  good  move  on,  then  swing 
underneath  to  the  rods,  or  jump  the 
blind  baggage. 


96 


"The  blind  baggage  is  good  enough 
for  you,  Windy, "  says  I  to  myself.  Ac- 
cordingly, one  very  fine  evening  I  per- 
mitted a  passenger  train  to  get  a  good 
move  on,  and  then  boarded  her  a  little 
way  out,  before  she  began  to  go  too  fast. 
I  was  onto  my  job  pretty  well.  I  made 
it  all  right,  but  as  soon  as  I  swung  onto 
the  steps  of  the  blind  baggage  I  found 
I  wasn't  the  only  pebble  on  the  beach 
for  a  number  of  other  non-paying  pas- 
sengers were  there  who  must  have  got 
on  before  the  train  pulled  ..out.  There 
were  just  seven  deadheads  on  the  car, 
excluding  myself,  and  they  were  not  a 
bit  glad  to  see  me.  Seven  on  the  plat- 
form of  a  car  is  a  good  many,  but  eight 
is  one  too  many ;  so  my  fellow  voyagers 
assured  me  by  black  looks.  They  were 
greasers,  every  one  of  them,  and  cow 
punchers  at  that,  most  likely.  I  was  an 
American.  There  was  no  welcome  for 
me.  The  greasers  jabbered  among 
themselves  about  me,  but  what  they  said 
I  could  not  understand,  for  I  don't  un- 
derstand Spanish. 

Finally  one  of  them  said  to  me  in 


97 


fairly  good  English:  "It's  too  much 
crowded  here;  you  better  jump  off." 

"Jump  off  while  the  train  is  going 
like  this ;  not  much !  Jump  off  yourself 
and  see  how  you  like  it,"  said  I  angrily. 

Not  only  was  I  angry  but  apprehen- 
sive, for  I  felt  there  was  going  to  be 
trouble.  I  was  not  armed  and  had  only 
a  pocket  knife  with  me.  Even  had  I 
been  armed  what  could  I  have  done 
against  seven  men  in  close  quarters? 
Nothing  was  said  to  me  for  quite  a  while 
after  that  and  the  train  clattered  along 
at  a  great  rate. 

The  cold,  swift-rushing  night  wind 
blew  keenly  against  us,  making  the 
teeth  of  some  of  the  greasers  chatter. 
They  could  stand  any  amount  of  heat 
but  a  little  cold  made  them  feel  like 
hunting  their  holes.  After  riding  along 
for  an  hour  or  so  through  the  bare, 
cheerless  plains  of  Nevada,  the  engine 
whistle  blew  for  the  town.  The  cow- 
puncher  who  had  addressed  me  before 
spoke  up  and  said:  "It  is  more  better 
you  get  off  at  the  next  station." 

"No,  I  won't;  get  off  yourself,"  said  I. 

Before  I  knew  what  had   happened 


98 


two  of  the  greasers  grabbed  me  around 
the  throat  so  I  couldn't  holler,  and  two 
others  pulled  off  my  coat,  which  they 
threw  from  the  train.  The  fellow  who 
had  spoken  to  me  told  me  that  if  I  didn't 
jump  off  the  train  as  soon  as  she  slacked 
up  they'd  throw  me  off.  I  knew  they 
would  do  so  when  opportunity  offered, 
so  off  I  hopped,  mad  as  blazes.  As  I 
didn't  want  to  lose  my  coat  I  walked 
back  to  get  it  and  I  had  to  walk  a  mile 
or  so  to  do  so.  Luckily,  I  found'  my  coat 
not  far  from  the  track  and  after  put- 
ting it  on,  I  faced  eastward  again  to- 
ward the  station.  It  is  no  joke  to  hike 
through  an  unfamiliar  wilderness  at 
night  with  no  habitation  or  human  be- 
ing in  sight  or  anyways  near. 

The  night  was  a  fine  one,  clear,  cold 
and  star-lit,  so  I  managed  to  walk 
along  the  ties  without. serious  mishap. 
In  the  sage  brush,  as  I  walked  along,  I 
could  hear  the  sudden  whirr  of  birds  as 
they  flew  off  startled,  and  the  sudden- 
ness of  the  noise  startled  me  at  first  for 
I  didn't  know  what  inade  the  noise.  But 
I  quickly  caught  on. 

In  the  distance  I  could  hear  the  mel- 


99 


ancholy  yelp  of  a  coyote  which  was 
quickly  answered  from  all  points  by 
other  animals  of  the  same  species.  One 
or  two  coyotes  can  make  more  noise 
than  a  pack  of  wolves  or  dogs.  They 
are  animals  of  the  wolf  species  and  are 
death  to  poultry,  sheep,  little  pigs  and 
small  animals  generally. 

I  got  to  the  little  town  safe  and  sound 
but  it  must  have  been  after  midnight 
when  I  reached  it,  for  there  wasn't  a 
soul  to  be  seen  in  the  streets  and  all  was 
quiet.    The  town  was  Wadsworth. 

I  walked  to  the  pump-house  of  the 
railroad,  which  was  situated  along  the 
tracks  and  where  I  could  hear  the  pump 
throbbing,  and  talked  to  the  engineer, 
who  didn't  seem  averse  to  a  chat.  His 
vigil  was  a  lonely  one,  and  anything  to 
him  was  agreeable  to  vary  the  monot- 
ony. During  the  course  of  the  conversa- 
tion I  learned  that  an  eastbound  freight 
would  be  along  in  a  few  hours. 

I  made  the  freight  all  right  by  riding 
the  brakes.  The  train  was  made  up  of 
closed  box-cars  and  there  was  no  other 
way  to  ride  except  on  the  bumpers.  I 
preferred  the  brakes. 


100 


It  was  pretty  cold  riding  during  the 
early  morning  hours,  but  luckily  I  had 
my  overcoat  with  me  once  more,  which 
helped  to  keep  me  warm. 

Beating  one's  way  is  a  picnic  some- 
times, but  not  always.  During  the  sum- 
mer time  there  is  dust  and  heat  to  con- 
tend with,  according  to  how  one  rides, 
and  in  winter  time  there  are  cold  winds, 
snow  and  frost. 

I  rode  the  brakes  all  night  and  was 
glad  when  day  broke.  I  was  quite 
numbed. 

The  scenery  was  still  the  same- 
plains  and  alkali.  At  Lovelock  I  had 
time  to  get  a  bite  of  breakfast  and  a  cup 
of  hot  coffee,  and  then  the  train  was  off 
for  Humboldt.  The  distances  between 
towns  were  great,  about  a  hundred 
miles  or  so. 

Finally  the  train  stopped  at  Winne- 
mucca,  a  town  which,  for  short  and 
sweet,  is  called  "Winnemuck"  by  the 
knowing  ones.  At  this  place  I  concluded 
to  hop  off  for  a  rest.  Winnemucca  is 
quite  a  sizeable  town,  and  is  the  county 
seat  of  some  county.  It  contains  about 
two  thousand  inhabitants,  and  used  to 


101 


be  as  wild  and  woolly  a  place  as  any  in 
the  West,  but  it  has  tamed  down^some 
since.  Saloons  are  plentiful  aftd  all 
drinks  are  ten  cents  straight,  with  no 
discount  for  quantity.  A  pretty* good 
meal  can  be  had  for  two  bits,  but  short 
orders  and  such  things  as  life  preserv- 
ers, sinkers,  or  a  bit  of  "mystery"  with 
coffee,  are  all  the  same  price — two  bits. 
I  found  no  place  where  I  could  get  any- 
thing for  less. 

There  was  a  river  or  creek  at  the 
further  end  of  town  wherein  I  wished 
to  bathe,  but  the  water  was  so  intoler- 
ably filthy  that  I  deemed  it  wise  to  wait 
until  I  found  a  more  suitable  place 
along  the  route. 

I  noticed  a  bank  in  Winnemucca  and 
was  informed  that  it  had  been  robbed 
recently  of  many  thousands  of  dollars 
by  bandits.  Soon  after  the  robbery  a 
trellis-work  of  structural  iron  was  put 
up  from  the  money-counters  clear  to 
the  ceiling  with  mere  slots  for  the  re- 
ceiving and  paying  out  of  money,  so 
that  the  next  set  of  bandits  who  call 
there  will  have  to  crawl  through  mighty 
small  holes  to  make  a  raise. 


102 


The  next  town  along  the  line  which 
.amounted,  to  anything  was  Elko*and  I 
"made 4 1  that  same  day  on  a  freight.  I 
ffjund:  it  a;  pretBy  little  town  with  good 
people  for  it,' who  treated  me  well.  I 
learned  there  were  some  wonderful  nat- 
ural hot  springs  about  a  mile  or  so  from 
town,  so  that  afternoon  I  hiked  out  to 
see  them.  I  shall  never  regret  having 
seen  them  for  they  are  one  of  nature's 
wonders. 

Out  in  the  wilderness,  near  where 
they  were  situated,  I  came  upon  an 
amphitheater  of  hills,  at  the  base  of 
which  was  a  little  lake  about  100  yards 
in  diameter.  The  hills  were  bare  and 
lonely  and  near  them  was  no  house  or 
habitation.    All  was  wild,  lone,  still. 

I  climbed  down  one  of  these  hills  to 
the  lake  and  had  a  good  survey  of  it. 
The  water  was  clear  and  pure  as  crystal 
but  near  the  banks  were  sulphur 
springs  which  bubbled  up  now  and  then. 
The  water  was  so  hot  it  was  impossible 
to  put  a  finger  in  it. 

I  walked  around  the  banks  and  at  one 
end  of  the  lake  there  was  a  hole  so  deep 
I  couldn't  see  bottom.    This  is  a  crater- 


103 


hole  so  deep  that  bottom  has  never  been 
found,  although  it  has  been  sounded  to 
a  depth  of  several  thousand  feet.  The 
entire  place  looks  like  the  crater  of  an 
extinct  volcano.  A  single  glance  would 
lead  anyone  to  suppose  so. 

Indian  men,  women,  boys  and  girls  go 
to  the  lake  during  the  warm  seasons  to 
bathe,  and  many  a  daring  buck  who  has 
swum  across  the  crater  was  drowned  in 
it  and  his  body  has  never  been  recov- 
ered. I  needed  a  bath  myself  so  I  dis- 
robed and  plunged  in.  The  water  was 
neither  too  hot  nor  too  cold  but  half  way 
between  the  two.  It  was  just  right. 
Where  I  swam  was  not  in  the  crater  but 
near  it.  The  water  there  was  part  crater 
water  and  part  sulphur  water  from  the 
springs.    The  bath  was  delicious. 

The  ride  eastward  from  Elko  was  un- 
eventful. There  was  nothing  to  see  but 
bare  plains  and  mountains  and  a  few 
border  towns.  The  towns  were  very 
small,  and  hardly  more  than  railroad 
stations.  They  were  composed  of  a  gen- 
eral store  or  two,  several  saloons,  a 
blacksmith  shop,  drug  store,  bakery, 
butchershop,  barbershop,  and  that  is  all. 


104 


I  boarded  a  freight  train  at  Wells  and 
rode  the  brakes  through  the  Lucin  Cut- 
off to  Ogden.  The  trains  used  to  run 
around  Salt  Lake,  but  now  a  trestle  has 
been  built  through  it,  which  saves  many 
miles.  The  trestle  is  forty  or  fifty  miles 
long,  I  should  judge,  and  as  I  clung 
tightly  to  my  perch  on  the  brakebeam 
and  looked  down  into  the  clear  blue 
water  through  the  ties  I  got  kind  of  diz- 
zy, but  met  with  no  disaster. 

After  a  long  and  tedious  ride  of  sev- 
eral hours  I  reached  Ogden,  the  end  of 
the  S.  P.  line.  As  funds  were  low  I 
remained  in  Ogden  several  days  and 
went  to  work. 

Ogden  is  in  Utah  and  full  of  Mor- 
mons. It  is  a  beautiful  city,  surround- 
ed by  lofty  mountains,  the  Wasatch 
range,  and  contains  about  50,000  peo- 
ple. It  has  a  Mormon  tabernacle,  tithe- 
house,  broad  streets,  fine  stores,  elegant 
public  buildings  and  is  quite  a  railroad 
center. 

I  happened  to  discover  a  Mormon 
lady  who  had  a  wood-pile  in  her  back 
yard  and  she  was  needing  a  man  to  chop 
the  wood,  so  we  struck  a  bargain.  I  was 


105 


to  receive  a  dollar  and  a  half  per  day 
and  my  board  for  my  work  and  was 
given  a  room  in  an  outhouse  to  bunk  in. 
The  terms  suited  me.  The  board  was 
plentiful  and  good,  and  the  sleeping 
quarters  comfortable.  I  never  saw  a 
man  about  the  place  and  wondered 
whether  the  lady  was  married  or  not. 
She  was  old  enough  to  be.  I  knew  she 
was  a  Mormon  because  she  told  me  so, 
and  possibly  she  was  the  plural  wife  of 
some  rich  old  Mormon.  I  didn't  like  to 
ask  too  many  questions  for  I  might 
have  got  fired  for  being  too  nosy.  The 
lady  was  sociable  and  kind-hearted  and 
treated  me  well. 

The  Mormons  like  apples,  cider  and 
ladies,  and  they  are  an  industrious  peo- 
ple. The  Bible  says  they  can  have  all 
the  wives  they  want,  but  the  United 
States  law  says  they  can't  have  'em,  so 
what  are  the  poor  fellows  to  do?  Sh! 
They  have  'em  on  the  sly.  Don't  give  me 
away.  Can  you  blame  a  rich  old  Mor- 
mon for  having  a  big  bunch  of  wives  if 
he  can  support  them  ?  If  I  had  the  price 
I'd  have  two,  at  least,  one  for  week  days 
and  one  for  Sundays,  but  if  the  mother- 


106 


in-law  is  thrown  in,  I  pass.  One  good 
healthy  mother-in-law  of  the  right  sort 
can  make  it  mighty  interesting  for  a  fel- 
low, but  a  bunch  of  them;  whew!  Ex- 
cuse me!  During  my  stay  in  Ogden  I 
didn't  see  any  funny  business  going  on, 
and  wouldn't  have  suspected  there  was 
any,  but  from  what  I  could  learn  on  the 
outside,  there  was  something  doing.  I 
saw  lots  of  rosy-cheeked  Mormon  girls 
in  the  tabernacle  one  day  when  I  was 
there,  but  they  behaved  just  like  other 
girls.  The  tabernacle  is  a  church  and  it 
ain't.  It  is  an  immense  egg-shaped 
building  arranged  very  peculiarly,  yet  it 
is  snug  and  cosy  inside.  It  can  hold 
thousands  of  people.  It  must  be  seen 
to  be  appreciated.  I  liked  Ogden  very 
much  and  would  like  to  linger  there 
longer  but  I  deemed  it  best  to  keep  a 
moving. 

After  leaving  Ogden  the  scenery  be- 
came interesting.  The  country  is  moun- 
tainous going  eastward,  and  we  struck 
a  place  called  Weber  Canyon,  which 
is  a  narrow  pass  between  high  moun- 
tains through  which  the  railroad  winds. 
The  mountains  were  pretty  well  wood- 


107 


ed.  In  one  spot  I  saw  a  place  called  the 
Devil's  Slide,  which  was  made  by  nature 
and  consists  of  two  long  narrow  ledges 
of  rocks  that  begin  high  up  on  a  moun- 
tain side  and  run  down  almost  to  the 
bottom  of  the  mountain  where  the  car 
tracks  are.  These  rocks  form  two  con- 
tinuous lines  that  run  down  side  by  side 
with  a  space  of  several  feet  between 
them,  and  they  are  rough  and  raggedy 
on  top.  Imagine  two  rails  with  about 
four  or  five  feet  of  space  between  them 
running  down  a  mountain  side  several 
hundred  feet  and  then  you  will  have 
some  idea  of  the  formation  of  the  slide. 
How  in  the  devil  the  devil  rode  it,  gets 
me.  He  must  have  been  pretty  broad 
in  the  beam,  and  I  would  like  to  have 
seen  him  when  he  performed  the  act. 
He  must  have  come  down  a-flying,  for 
the  slide  is  nearly  perpendicular. 

This  kind  of  scenery,  though  wild, 
was  a  relief  from  the  bare  and  "lonely 
plains  of  Nevada,  and  I  appreciated  it. 
A  little  variety  is  the  spice  of  life,  they 
say,  and  after  seeing  dullness  it  is  nice 
to  see  beauty. 

I  was  now  on  the  Union  Pacific  Rail- 


108 


road  and  was  in  an  empty  cattle  car, 
through  the  slats  of  which  I  could  see 
the  scenery  on  both  sides  of  me.  Dur- 
ing the  daytime  it  was  nice,  but  at  night 
the  weather  grew  cold  and  the  long 
watches  of  the  night  were  dreary,  A 
companion  then  would  have  been  agree- 
able. I  missed  little  Billy.  At  a  small  sta- 
tion in  Wyoming  called  Rock  Creek,  I 
was  put  off  the  train  one  afternoon  and 
as  I  hadn't  a  dime  left,  I  felt  it  was 
incumbent  on  me  to  go  to  work.  I  saw 
a  bunch  of  cattle  in  a  corral  near  the 
railroad  station  that  had  probably  been 
unloaded  from  a  train,  and  as  there 
were  some  bull-whackers  with  them  I 
struck  them  for  a  job. 

"Kin  you  ride?"  asked  a  chap  who 
looked  like  the  boss. 

"Ride  anything  with  hair  on,"  re- 
plied I. 

"Ever  herd  cattle?"  asked  the  boss. 

"I'm  an  old  hand  at  the  business," 
answered  I. 

"Where'd  you  do  your  herding?" 

"In  California." 

I  never  herded  cattle  in  my  life,  but 
I  could  ride  all  right,  and  as  I  didn't 


109 


consider  bull-whacking  much  of  a  job, 
I  thought  I  could  hold  it  down  easily. 
The  boss  hired  me  then  and  there  at 
twenty  dollars  per  month  and  chuck, 
and  while  on  the  range  my  bedroom  was 
to  be  a  large  one — all  Wyoming.  It 
didn't  take  the  cowboys  long  to  get  on 
to  the  fact  that  I  was  a  tenderfoot,  but 
as  I  was  a  good  rider  they  said  nothing. 
They  were  a  whole-souled,  rollicking, 
devil-may-care  set  of  fellows,  and  the 
best  they  had  was  none  too  good  for  me. 
They  treated  me  like  a  lord. 

They  knew,  and  the  boss  soon  found 
out  that  I  didn't  know  any  more  about 
roping  a  steer  than  a  baby  did,  but  as 
they  were  not  branding  cattle  just  then, 
that  didn't  matter  so  much.  I  got  on  to 
their  way  of  herding  quickly  enough, 
and  that  was  all  that  was  necessary  just 
then.  I  didn't  ask  where  the  outfit  was 
bound  for,  nor  did  I  care  much,  for  all 
I  was  after  was  to  earn  a  few  dollars. 

There  were  a  good  many  hundred 
head  of  cattle  in  the  bunch  and  many  of 
the  them  were  steers,  but  there  were 
also  many  dried-up  cows  among  them 
and  some  yearlings.  They  had  all  to  be 


110 


herded  carefully  so  they  wouldn't  stray 
away,  and  to  accomplish  this  we  had  to 
keep  riding  around  them  all  day  long. 
At  night  after  feeding,  the  cattle  rest- 
ed. On  dark  nights  they  generally 
squatted  down  contentedly  and  chewed 
the  cud,  but  on  a  moonlit  night  they 
would  keep  on  their  feet  and  feed.  The 
very  first  moonlit  night  I  was  put  on 
watch  I  got  into  trouble.  The  cattle 
arose  to  feed,  and  do  what  I  would,  I 
could  not  keep  them  together.  When 
riding  along  on  one  side  of  the  herd  to 
keep  them  in,  a  few  ignorant  brutes  on 
the  other  side  would  wander  away  and 
at  such  times  some  hard  riding  had  to 
be  done  to  keep  them  in.  I  could  do  it, 
but  I  couldn't  ride  everywhere  at  once. 
I  did  some  pretty  fast  riding  and  kept 
yelling  and  hallooing  at  the  cattle,  but 
one  of  the  brutes  got  so  far  away  from 
me  that  when  he  saw  me  coming  he 
raised  his  tail  and  bolted  outright.  By 
the  time  I  got  him  in  others  were  scat- 
tered far  and  wide.  I  now  saw  that  I 
was  helpless,  so  I  went  to  camp  and 
aroused  the  sleeping  cowboys.  They 
knew  instinctively  what  the  trouble  was 


Ill 


and  got  out  of  their  warm  blankets  cuss- 
ing to  beat  the  band.  They  mounted 
their  ponies  and  off  we  all  rode  to 
gather  the  scattered  herd.  It  was  no 
picnic.  There  were  four  of  us,  and  as 
the  cattle  had  strayed  off  in  all  direc- 
tions, it  is  easy  to  imagine  what  our 
task  was.  One  of  the  boys  and  myself 
traveled  together  in  one  direction  and 
made  for  an  ornery  brute  that  shook 
his  head  when  we  gently  told  him  to 
"git  in  there."  Off  he  shot  like  a  rocket 
with  a  bellow  of  defiance,  and  his  tail  in 
the  air. 

"I'll  fix  the  ugly  son  of  — !"  yelled 
my  comrade,  as  he  uncoiled  his  rope 
from  his  saddle  and  got  it  ready  for  a 
throw.  His  pony  was  after  the  steer  like 
a  shot,  for  it  knew  its  business,  and  got 
in  range  in  a  jiffy.  Out  flew  the  rope 
and  settled  around  the  steer's  neck. 
Quick  as  a  flash  the  steer  flew  in  the  air, 
turned  a  complete  somersault  and  land- 
ed on  the  turf  with  a  jar  that  shook  the 
earth. 

"You  will  run  away,  you !"  ex- 
claimed the  irate  cowboy.  "I  guess  you 


112 


won't  do  it  in  a  hurry  again,  gol  darn 
your  ugly  hide." 

The  animal  got  up  meek  as  a  lamb, 
trembled  in  every  limb,  shook  his  head 
in  a  dazed  way,  and  probably  wondered 
what  had  struck  him.  We  had  no  trou- 
ble with  him  after  that,  and  made  off 
after  the  rest.  It  was  long  after  mid- 
night before  all  the  cattle  were  rounded 
up.  The  boss  was  mad  clear  through. 
The  next  day  he  politely  told  me  that  I 
didn't  understand  my  business;  that  I 
didn't  know  any  more  about  herding 
cattle  than  a  kid;  that  I  had  lied  to  him 
about  being  a  cowboy  and  that  I  had 
better  skip.  He  cursed  me  up  and  down 
and  kept  up  his  abuse  so  long  that  I 
finally  got  tired  of  it  and  fired  back. 
That  made  matters  worse.  We  soon 
were  at  it,  tooth  and  nail.  He  struck 
me  with  his  fist  and  it  was  a  hard  blow. 
I  was  taller  and  longer  in  the  reach  than 
he  and  kept  him  off  from  me.  The  first 
blow  was  the  only  one  he  struck  me,  but 
it  was  a  good  one  and  dazed  me  for  a 
moment.  "I  knowed  you  was  a  Greas- 
er," yelled  he  as  he  danced  around  me, 


113 


'and  I'm  going  to  put  you  out  of  busi- 


ness." 


"Come  on,  you —  ,"  yelled  I. 

He  wasn't  in  the  mix-up  at  all.  I  was 
younger,  stronger  and  longer  in  the 
reach  than  he,  and  one  of  the  blows  I 
put  in  was  a  tremendous  one,  for  it 
knocked  him  down  and  he  lay  still  for 
awhile.  When  he  got  up  I  knocked  him 
down  again.    I  saw  he  was  my  meat. 

"Now,  pay  me  off,  you — ,  and  I'll 
get  out  of  here  pretty  darn  quick;  if 
you  don't,  Til  beat  the  life  out  of  you," 
yelled  I.  The  cowboys  stood  by  and 
said  nothing.    It  wasn't  their  funeral. 

The  boss  paid  me  off  and  I  got  out. 

At  Cheyenne,  Wyoming,  I  ran  across 
a  gassy  little  red-headed  Hebrew  who 
put  me  on  to  a  good,  money-making 
scheme.  He  had  a  lot  of  paste-board 
signs  with  him  on  which  were  neatly 
printed  such  things  as:  "Our  trusting 
department  is  on  the  roof ;  take  the  ele- 
vator"; "Every  time  you  take  a  drink 
things  look  different" ;  "In  God  we  trust ; 
all  others  must  pay  cash";  "We  lead; 
others  follow";  "Razors  put  in  order 
good  as  new,"  etc.,  etc.    The  young  fel- 


114 


low  told  me  that  he  was  beating  his  way 
to  the  Coast  and  that  he  sold  enough 
of  these  signs  to  pay  expenses.  He  told 
me  also  that  the  signs  by  the  quantity 
cost  him  only  five  cents  each,  and  that 
he  sold  them  readily  for  twenty-five 
cents  each. 

I  thought  the  little  chap  was  lying  for 
I  didn't  think  anyone  would  pay  twen- 
ty-five cents  for  such  a  sign,  but  he  sol- 
emnly assured  me  on  his  word  of  honor 
that  he  had  no  trouble  selling  them  at 
the  price.  He  further  told  me  that  he 
would  sell  me  a  hundred  of  the  signs 
at  cost  price,  adding  that  if  I  bought 
a  hundred  of  them,  he  would  give  me 
the  address  of  the  wholesaler  in  Omaha 
where  I  could  obtain  all  the  signs  I 
wanted.  The  little  scheme  looked  good 
to  me  but  unfortunately  I  had  only  two 
dollars  in  my  possession.  This  I  offered 
him  for  forty  signs  with  the  name  of 
the  wholesaler  thrown  in.  He  accepted. 
I  soon  found  that  the  little  Israelite  had 
told  me  the  truth,  for  the  signs  sold 
readily  for  two  bits  each,  though  in  some 
places  I  had  to  do  a  deal  of  talkine  to 
sell  a  sign,  and  in  other  places  they 


115 


laughed  at  me,  when  I  told  them  the 
price  was  twenty-five  cents,  and  offered 
me  ten  cents.  As  I  wasn't  sure  whether 
I  could  purchase  any  more  signs  at  the 
price  I  paid  for  them,  I  was  loath  to 
sell  them  for  ten  cents  each. 

When  I  reached  Omaha  I  found  the 
address  of  the  sign  man,  and  learned 
that  I  could  buy  all  the  signs  I  wanted 
in  hundred  lots  at  three  cents  each.  The 
little  cuss  had  done  me  after  all. 

I  bought  a  hundred  signs  and  now  felt 
that  I  had  struck  a  good  thing,  for  I 
would  have  to  do  no  more  hard  work. 
I  sold  many  of  the  signs  in  small  towns 
and  cities,  and  found  little  difficulty 
in  doing  so.  No  more  handouts  for 
yours  truly,  no  more  wood-chopping,  no 
more  cow-punching.  I  was  a  full- 
fledged  merchant  and  able  to  hold  my 
own  with  any  of  them.  It  was  easier 
sailing  now. 

The  trip  from  Omaha  to  Chicago  was 
interesting,  but  uneventful.  At  Omaha 
I  crossed  the  muddy-looking  Missouri 
River  on  a  bridge  while  riding  the 
bumpers  of  a  freight,  but  was  detected 


116 


and  put  off  on  the  other  side  of  the 
river. 

That  night  I  did  rather  a  daring 
thing.  Along  toward  nine  o'clock  there 
came  along  a  passenger  train  and  as 
I  had  made  up  my  mind  to  get  on  to 
Chicago  as  fast  as  I  could,  I  stepped 
upon  the  platform  of  one  of  the  passen- 
ger coaches  and  climbed  upon  the  roof 
of  the  car,  where  I  rode  along  for  many 
a  mile.  Bye-and-bye,  however,  the  wind 
became  so  keen,  cold  and  cutting,  and 
the  rush  of  air  so  strong,  that  I  be- 
came numbed  and  was  obliged  to  climb 
down  for  warmth.  I  walked  boldly 
into  the  passenger  coach  and  sat  down 
in  a  vacant  seat  near  the  door.  I  knew 
the  conductor  would  not  be  round  again 
for  some  time,  for  he  had  made  his 
round,  so  for  the  present  I  felt  safe. 

When  taking  up  tickets  the  con- 
ductor of  a  train  usually  starts  at  the 
front  end  and  moves  along  to  the  rear. 
After  his  work  is  ended  he  will  rarely 
sit  down  in  any  of  the  middle  coaches, 
especially  if  every  seat  has  an  occupant, 
but  he  and  the  brakeman  usually  go 
to  the  smoker  and  sit  down  there.     I 


117 


was  in  the  coach  next  to  the  smoker, 
and  later  on,  I  saw  the  conductor  com- 
ing around  again  for  tickets,  I  leisurely 
strolled  to  the  rear  platform  of  the  car 
I  was  in  and  climbed  on  top  again.  I 
watched  the  conductor  and  waited  until 
he  had  made  his  rounds,  and  then  I 
returned  to  my  seat  in  the  coach. 

In  this  way  I  traveled  a  long  dis- 
tance. I  kept  up  these  tactics  for  hours, 
but  bye-and-bye  I  noticed  a  young 
woman  who  was  traveling  with  her 
husband  (a  young  fellow  of  about 
twenty-five),  watch  me  suspiciously. 
She  put  her  husband  on  to  my  little 
racket,  and  he,  most  likely,  told  the  con- 
ductor, who  laid  a  cute  little  trap  to 
catch  me.  After  he  had  been  through 
all  the  coaches  on  his  next  round  he 
went  to  the  smoker,  as  usual,  but  when 
he  came  to  the  rear  coach  I  was  in  he 
locked  the  rear  door  behind  him.  It 
was  through  this  door  I  had  been  mak- 
ing my  exit.  He  then  passed  slowly 
through  the  train  again  from  the  front 
looking  at  the  hat  checks.  When  I  saw 
him  coming  and  the  brakeman  follow- 
ing in  the  rear  I  tried  the  usual  tactics 


118 


but  found  the  door  locked.  I  was 
trapped.  The  conductor  came  up  to 
me  and  seeing  no  hat-check  asked  me 
for  my  ticket.  I  pretended  to  look  for 
it,  but  couldn't  find  it.  The  conductor 
eyed  me  coldly  and  told  me  to  follow 
him  to  the  baggage  car.  The  brakeman 
acted  as  a  rear  guard.  When  we 
stepped  into  the  baggage  car  the  con- 
ductor asked  me  a  few  questions  which 
to  him  did  not  seem  satisfactory,  where- 
upon he  sternly  warned  me  to  get  off  at 
the  next  station.  "If  I  catch  you  on  here 
again,  I'll  throw  you  off,"  threatened 
he. 

I  knew  he  dared  not  legally  throw 
me  off  a  train  while  it  was  in  motion, 
and  that  he  was  bluffing,  but  I  got  off 
at  the  next  station  just  the  same.  I 
concluded  I  had  ridden  far  enough  that 
night,  anyway.  My  journey  to  Chicago 
was  soon  completed. 

I  remained  in  Chicago  several  days 
selling  the  signs  for  a  living  but  found 
it  difficult  work.  The  sign  that  seemed 
to  sell  best  in  Chicago  was  the  one  read- 
ing: "Every  Time  You  Take  a  Drink, 
Things  Look  Different,"   and  it  made 


119 


quite  a  hit  in  the  saloons,  but  I  could 
only  get  ten  cents  for  it.  The  Chicago 
saloon  keepers  wanted  all  the  money  to 
come  their  way.  In  the  smaller  towns 
this  sign  sold  readily  for  twenty-five 
cents,  and  no  questions  asked.  I  con- 
cluded to  shake  the  dust  of  Chicago  off 
my  feet  in  a  hurry,  for  the  grafting  was 
too  hard  for  me.  I  had  got  onto  it  that 
there  were  easier  places. 

It  was  the  Michigan  Central  that  had 
the  honor  to  yank  me  out  of  Chicago 
and  a  hard  old  road  she  was  to  beat. 
Spotters  were  everywhere — fly  cops  and 
bulls — and  they  gave  me  a  run  for  my 
money.  I  gave  some  of  them  a  cock-and- 
bull  story  about  trying  to  get  to  a  sick 
relative  in  New  York  City,  and  showed 
them  the  signs  I  was  selling  to  help  pay 
expenses.  Some  laughed,  and  told  me 
to  "git,"  but  one  or  two  sternly  told  me 
they  had  a  mind  to  run  me  in.  They 
didn't,  though.  I  got  along  all  right  as 
far  as  Detroit,  where  I  crossed  over  to 
Windsor,  Canada,  on  a  boat  which  fer- 
ried the  whole  train  over  at  once.  I  was 
now  in  a  foreign  country,  but  every- 
thing there  looked  pretty  much  as  it  did 


120 


in  the  United  States.  The  Michigan 
Central  took  me  clear  through  Canada 
to  Niagara  Falls,  where  I  concluded  to 
remain  a  few  days,  for  much  as  I  had 
heard  of  the  Falls,  I  had  never  seen 
them. 

I  found  that  there  is  a  big  city  of 
about  25,000  people  at  the  Falls  called 
"Niagara  Falls,"  and  it  is  a  beautiful 
place. 

On  the  Canadian  side  there  is  a  little 
city,  too,  the  name  of  which  I  forget.  It 
is  not  nearly  so  large  as  the  city  on  the 
American  side,  but  it  is  a  quaint  and 
pretty  little  place. 

Niagara  Falls  City  is  something  like 
Coney  Island,  only  it  is  on  an  all-the- 
year-round  scale.  Ordinary  electric 
cars  run  through  the  place,  electric 
tourist  cars  that  will  take  one  over  the 
Gorge  Route  for  a  dollar  are  there,  and 
so  are  hotels,  boarding  and  rooming 
houses,  plenty  of  stores,  an  extensive 
government  reservation  called  Prospect 
Park,  a  Ferris  Wheel,  Shoot-the-Chutes, 
candy  and  ice  cream  booths,  a  hot 
frankfurter  booth,  picture  galleries, 
beer  gardens,  etc.    The  place  is  lively 


121 


and  pretty,  but  full  of  grafters.  Why 
wouldn't  it  be,  when  suckers  by  the 
million  flock  there  every  year  from  all 
over  the  world? 

I  got  to  like  the  place  so  well  that  I 
remained  there  nearly  a  week  and 
learned  a  whole  lot  of  things. 

I  wasn't  a  sucker  and  didn't  get 
catched  for  I  wasn't  worth  catching. 
Small  fry  ain't  wanted.  Did  I  see  the 
.Falls?  Did  I?  Well,  you  can  bet  your 
sweet  life  I  did.  I  saw  them  early,  late 
and  often,  and  every  time  I  saw  them 
they  made  my  hair  rise  higher  and 
higher.  They  are  stupendous,  tremen- 
dous— well,  I  can't  say  all  I  feel.  They 
will  awe  anyone  and  fill  him  chock  full 
of  all  kinds  of  thoughts.  I'll  try  to  give 
you  an  idea  of  them. 

Niagara  River  is  a  stream  about  half 
a  mile  wide  and  about  a  hundred  miles 
long.  It  connects  Lake  Erie  with  Lake 
Ontario,  and  as  the  waters  of  these 
great  lakes  form  the  river,  the  volume 
of  its  waters  is  great.  About  twenty- 
five  miles  from  Buffalo  the  Niagara 
River  enters  rocky  canyons,  which  are 
formed  by  Goat  Island,  and  which  di- 


122 


vide  the  river.  The  rushing,  roaring 
and  leaping  of  the  waters  on  either  side 
of  the  island  is  tremendous.  These 
rushing,  roaring  waters  are  called  the 
Upper  Rapids.  The  waters  rush  along 
at  cannon-ball  speed  almost  until  they 
reach  a  hill  about  165  feet  in  height. 
Down  this  they  tumble.  That  consti- 
tutes the  Falls. 

The  river,  as  I  said,  is  divided  by 
Goat  Island,  so  that  one  part  of  the 
stream  shoots  along  the  American  shore 
and  the  other  part  along  the  Canadian. 

By  far  the  greater  part  of  the  river 
rushes  along  the  Canadian  side,  hence 
the  falls  on  that  side  are  much  greater 
than  on  the  American.  In  fact,  the 
American  falls  ain't  a  marker  to  the 
Canadian.  I  saw  the  falls  from  both 
sides,  and  when  viewed  from  the  Cana- 
dian side  they  are  indescribably  grand. 
No  words  of  mine  can  describe  them. 
You  can  hear  the  thunder  of  the  rush- 
ing, roaring,  falling  waters  a  mile  off, 
and  the  spray  that  arises  from  the 
depths  below  after  the  fallen  waters 
have  struck  the  rocks  can  be  seen  at  a 
great  distance. 


123 


While  the  great  lakes  flow  and  the 
Niagara  River  runs,  this  scene  of  rush- 
ing, roaring,  tumbling  waters  will 
never  cease.  After  the  waters  take 
their  tumble  they  flow  on  placidly 
enough  until  they  strike  another  nar- 
row gorge  or  canyon,  about  a  mile  below 
the  falls,  which  is  called  the  Lower 
Rapids.  In  them  may  be  seen  a  wicked 
whirlpool,  the  Devil's  Hole,  and  other 
uncanny  things. 

Niagara  is  great,  but  the  grafters 
who  are  there  are  greater.  They  will 
fool  the  stranger  who  goes  there  so  slick 
t^at  he  won't  know  he  has  been  fooled. 
The  majority  of  visitors  don't  care,  for 
they  go  there  to  s^end  their  money,  any- 
way. Some  do  care,  however,  for  their 
means  are  limited.  The  grafters,  who 
are  not  only  hackmen,  but  storekeepers 
and  others,  lie  awake  nights  studying 
how  to  "do"  you.  It  is  their  business 
to  make  money,  but  how  they  make  it 
don't  worry  them.  If  you  go  to  the 
Falls,  beware  of  them. 

People  from  every  nation  under  the 
sun  flock  to  the  Falls  every  year,  as  I 


124 


said,  and  a  million  visitors  a  year  is  a 
low  estimate,  I  am  sure. 

There  are  some  people  who  believe 
that  this  great  work  of  nature  ought  to 
be  preserved  intact,  but  there  are  others 
who  do  not  think  so.  The  latter  think 
the  Falls  were  created  for  their  benefit, 
so  they  can  make  money.  I  am  not  now 
speaking  of  the  grafters,  but  the  manu- 
facturers who  have  established  factor- 
ies along  the  banks  of  the  Niagara 
River  and  utilize  its  waters  for  running 
their  machinery,  etc.  These  people 
would  drain  the  river  dry  were  they 
permitted  to  do  so,  and  were  doing  so 
until  stopped  by  the  Government.  I 
make  no  comments  on  this  but  simply 
state  the  facts  and  let  others  do  the 
commenting. 

After  I  had  done  the  Falls  pretty 
thoroughly  I  concluded  to  go  to  Buffalo, 
the  beautiful  city  by  the  lake  (Erie). 
It  can  be  reached  in  several  ways  from 
Niagara  Falls  by  trolley  and  by  several 
lines  of  railroads.  It  cannot  be  reached 
by  water,  however,  for  the  reason  that 
the  Upper  Rapids  in  the  river  extend  a 
mile  or  so  from  the  Falls  toward  Buf- 


125 


falo,  rendering  navigation  impractica- 
ble. The  trolley  line  running  from 
Buffalo  to  the  Falls  is  one  of  the  best 
patronized  roads  in  the  country,  and  is 
crowded  every  day  and  overcrowded  on 
holidays  and  Sundays.  The  fare  is  fifty 
cents  the  round  trip  and  the  scenery, 
through  which  a  part  of  the  road  passes, 
is  very  fine.  The  road  runs  pretty  close 
to  the  Niagara  River  for  quite  a  dis- 
tance, and  along  the  banks  of  the  river 
may  be  seen  manufacturing  establish- 
ments, such  as  cyanide  plants,  paper 
mills,  chemical  works,  etc.,  nearly  all  of 
which  empty  their  refuse  into  the 
stream,  polluting  its  waters  consider- 
ably. All  of  these  establishments  can 
easily  be  seen  near  the  river  as  you  ride 
along  in  the  trolley. 

In  the  town  of  Niagara  Falls  itself 
are  quite  a  number  of  very  large  manu- 
facturing plants,  which  use  the  waters 
of  the  river  for  their  purposes. 

Buffalo  is  one  of  the  handsomest 
cities  in  the  United  States,  to  my  no- 
tion. Its  water  front  along  the  business 
section  of  the  town  is  pretty  punky,  for 
there  is  a  vile-smelling    canal    in    the 


126 


vicinity,  and  malodorous  streets  and 
alleys,  but  otherwise  the  town  is  away 
up  in  G.  She's  a  beaut,  and  no  mistake. 
Delaware  Avenue  is  a  corker.  Imagine 
a  thoroughfare  about  150  to  200  feet 
wide,  with  driveways  in  the  center 
shaded  by  fine  old  trees,  and  ample  side- 
walks also  shaded  by  fine  trees.  Along 
the  sidewalks,  but  set  far  back,  are 
roomy  mansions  that  are  set  in  ample 
gardens,  and  then  you  will  have  a  faint 
idea  of  the  beauty  of  Delaware  Avenue. 
And  there  are  many  other  streets  in 
the  vicinity  of  Delaware  Avenue  that 
are  just  as  beautiful.  Boulevards  and 
fine  streets  abound  in  this  fair  city. 

The  people  of  Buffalo  are  quite  like 
the  Westerners  in  disposition,  for  they 
are  sociable  and  free,  and  not  too  busy 
or  too  proud  to  talk  to  you.  They  are 
like  their  city,  lovely,  and  I  speak  of 
them  as  I  found  them.  There  are  many 
Canadians  in  the  city  (for  Canada  is 
only  across  the  Niagara  River  and  can 
be  reached  by  ferry-boat)  and  I  think 
they  are  a  very  desirable  class  of  citi- 
zens.   There  are  all  sorts  among  them, 


127 


of  course,  as  is  the  case  with  Ameri- 
cans. 

My  signs  went  well  in  Buffalo,  es- 
pecially the  one  reading,  "Every  Time 
You  Take  a  Drink,  etc."  It  went  well 
in  the  saloons  along  the  water  front  and 
on  Main  Street,  the  leading  thorough- 
fare. Lots  of  people  laughed  when  they 
read  it  and  said  it  was  a  good  one.  There 
is  nothing  like  a  laugh  to  put  people  in 
good  humor. 

I  liked  some  of  the  Canadians  very 
well  and  loved  to  listen  to  their  queer 
accent.  It  i?  nothing  like  the  American, 
but  peculiarly  their  own.  I  thought 
some  of  the  Canadian  ladies  were  very 
nice. 

I  liked  Buffalo  so  well  that  I  conclud- 
ed to  remain  there  until  I  grew  tired 
of  it.  After  I  had  been  there  a  day  or 
so  I  became  acquainted  with  a  young 
girl  whose  front  name  was  Rose.  She 
was  of  an  auburn  type  and  very  artless. 
She  had  a  decided  penchant  for  milk 
chocolates. 

She  was  as  pretty  as  a  rose  and  it 
was  awful  hard  for  me  to  resist  her. 
She  was  a  poor,  but  good,  honest,  hard- 


128 


working  girl.  She  had  been  hurt  in  a 
street  car  collision  and  was  just  recov- 
ering from  its  effects.  She  craved  choc- 
olates but  was  too  poor  to  buy  them  her- 
self. I  pitied  her.  She  told  me  in  her 
frank  and  artless  way  that  she  had 
thought  a  great  deal  of  a  certain  young 
fellow,  but  he  was  in  another  city  at 
present,  working,  and  that  she  hadn't 
seen  him  for  a  long  time.  She  didn't 
know  whether  she  ever  would  see  him 
again,  but  she  hoped  to,  for  he  was  a 
very  sweet  fellow,  she  said. 

"If  he  thinks  anything  of  me  don't 
you  think  he'll  come  back  to  me?"  she 
asked,  turning  up  her  soulful  blue  eyes 
at  me. 

"He  would  be  a  brute  if  he  didn't, 
Rose,"  responded  I,  with  considerable 
warmth.    The  girl  surely  loved  him. 

"Why  don't  he  write  to  me?" 

"Maybe  he  hasn't  got  the  time  or 
ain't  much  of  a  writer,"  said  I.  "Some 
people  don't  like  to  write." 

"I  guess  that's  true,"  said  she,  sadly. 

Though  she  had  a  sneaking  regard 
for  the  young  fellow,  she  didn't  object 
to  me  buying  milk  chocolates  for  her, 


129 


nor  to  going  to  a  show  with  me,  nor  to 
taking  a  ride  to  Crescent  Beach  on  a 
cosy  little  lake  steamer.  In  fact,  Rosie 
was  out  for  a  good  time,  and  evidently 
wasn't  particular  who  furnished  the 
funds.  As  I  fancied  the  poor  girl  I  was 
not  averse  to  giving  her  a  good  time. 
We  went  to  Delaware  Park  and  spent 
several  whole  afternoons  rowing  on  the 
little  lake.  We  fed  the  ducks,  walked  in 
shady  groves,  and  the  time  flew  swiftly 
by  in  her  company.  During  the  morn- 
ing I  sold  signs  and  in  the  afternoon  I 
went  with  Rosie.  I  put  in  a  whole  lot 
of  time  in  Buffalo  with  her,  more  than 
I  should  have  done.  One  day  I  told  her 
that  I  would  have  to  go  and  then  there 
was  a  kick.  She  wouldn't  have  it.  She 
could  not  and  she  would  not  let  me  go, 
she  said.  I  argued  the  case  with  her, 
but  she  wasn't  open  to  argument.  She 
was  one  of  these  kind  of  girls  who  are 
apt  to  forget  the  absent  one  when  the 
present  charmer  is  nigh.  It  was  the 
hardest  job  in  the  world  for  me  to  leave 
her,  but  I  finally  did  so.  Rosie,  fare- 
well; and  if  forever,  then  forever,  fare 
thee  well. 


130 

CHAPTER  IV. 
NEW  YORK  CITY. 

I  have  heard  it  stated  that  "a  great 
city  is  a  great  solitude,"  and  so  it  is  if 
you  are  a  stranger.  New  York  seemed 
a  big  solitude  to  me,  for  I  didn't  know 
anyone  and  no  one  knew  me.  I  landed 
in  the  Grand  Central  Depot  in  a  swell 
quarter  of  the  city  one  day,  and  felt 
utterly  lost,  for  I  didn't  know  which 
way  to  turn.  As  I  was  poor,  that  swell 
neighborhood  was  no  place  for  me,  but 
where  was  I  to  find  a  poorer  locality? 
I  concluded  to  walk  and  find  one.  I 
kept  a  walking  and  a  walking  and 
a  walking,  but  the  more  I  walked  the 
more  high-toned  did  the  streets  seem. 
Nothing  but  fine  houses  and  well-paved 
streets  met  my  view  and  they  made  me 
tired. 

I  did  not  like  to  address  any  of  the 
people  walking  along  these  streets  for 
they  seemed  hurried,  cold  and  distant. 

Says  I  to  myself:  "Windy,  you've 
struck  a  cold  place.  Chicago  was  bad, 
but  this  place  is  worse.    If  you  are  go- 


131 


ing  to  Europe,  this  will  have  to  be  your 
headquarters  for  awhile,  though." 

Bye-and-bye  I  struck  a  street  called 
Eighth  Avenue,  which  was  a  long  and 
wide  one.  It  was  full  of  people  and 
stores.  The  sidewalks  were  so  crowded 
that  locomotion  was  difficult,  and  I  saw 
more  coons  there  than  I  had  ever  seen 
in  my  life  before.  They  were  dressed  up 
to  kill  and  considered  they  owned  the 
town.  From  their  manner  one  would 
suppose  they  had  no  use  for  white  trash. 

I  had  walked  so  much  that  I  was 
pretty  well  tired  out,  and  I  also  was 
hungry  and  thirsty.  I  concluded  I 
would  seek  some  saloon  where  I  could 
obtain  a  rest,  a  drink  and  a  free  lunch, 
all  for  a  nickel.  There  are  such  places 
everywhere  in  the  cities,  plenty  of  them, 
and  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  find  them. 
I  walked  along  and  kept  my  eyes  peeled 
for  one.  I  saw  lots  of  stylishly  fitted- 
up  stores  along  the  avenue,  and  as  there 
was  so  much  style  I  thought  there  ought 
to  be  lots  of  money.  Everyone  I  met 
was  dressed  to  kill,  and  it  seemed  to 
me  that  no  one  was  poor.  Finally  I 
came  to  a  saloon  which  was  bejeweled 


132 


and  be-cut-glassed  outside,  and  swell  in- 
side, having  marble  floors  and  fancy 
fixtures.  Into  this  saloon  I  stepped  and 
strode  up  to  the  bar,  where  I  ordered  a 
schooner  of  beer.  I  laid  down  a  nickel 
on  the  bar  and  then  leisurely  strolled 
over  to  the  lunch  counter,  which  con- 
tained a  pretty  good  spread  of  free 
lunch.  I  tackled  a  fistful  of  bread  and 
cheese,  and  then  wound  up  with  .bo- 
logna, pickles,  crackers  and  pickled 
tripe.  I  ordered  another  schooner  and 
hit  the  free  lunch  again  real  hard.  No 
one  said  anything  to  me.  After  a  good 
long  rest  I  hit  the  "Avenue"  again  to 
see  the  sights.  There  was  plenty  to  be 
seen  for  the  avenue  was  jammed  with 
people,  trolley  cars  and  trucks.  The 
buildings  were  of  brick,  as  a  rule,  and 
old-fashioned  in  appearance.  On  the 
ground  floor  were  stores  and  over  head 
dwellings. 

Everyone  was  a  hustling  and  a  bust- 
ling and  didn't  seem  to  have  much  time 
for  anything  except  to  sell  you  some- 
thing. No  one  knew  me  or  seemed  to 
care  a  cuss  for  me.  I  felt  lonely.  The 
din  was  so  great  and  the  crowd  so  dense 


133 


that  I  couldn't  hear  myself  think.  I  was 
swept  along  with  the  crowd  and  kept 
my  eyes  and  ears  open.  The  stores  were 
very  fine,  and  the  signs  upon  them  hand- 
some. Though  Eighth  Avenue  is  by  no 
means  in  a  rich  section  of  the  city,  it 
seemed  to  me  that  there  was  a  whole  lot 
of  wealth  and  style  there.  I  felt  quite 
out  of  place  for  I  wasn't  well  dressed. 

Some  of  the  free  lunch  I  had  eaten — 
I  believe  it  was  the  bologna — had  given 
me  a  thirst,  so  I  stepped  into  an  ice 
cream  saloon  and  had  a  "schooner"  of 
ice  cream  soda,  which  quenched  my 
thirst  admirably.  Things  were  cheap 
and  good  in  New  York,  I  quickly 
learned,  and  if  one  only  had  the  price, 
one  could  live  well  there.  One  could 
have  all  kinds  of  fun,  too,  for  there  are 
so  many  people.  The  city  is  like  an 
overgrown  bee-hive  —  it  more  than 
swarms  with  people.  I  believe  that 
New  York  City  today  has  over  four 
millions  of  people,  with  more  a  coming 
every  year — thousands  of  them. 

I  had  heard  a  great  deal  about  the 
Bowery  in  New  York,  so  I  concluded  to 


134 


see  it.     I  knew  the  song  about  it,  the 
chorus  of  which  was : 

The  Bowery,  the  Bowery, 
They  say  such  things,  and  they  do  such 
things, 

On  the  Bowery,  the  Bowery- — 
Oh !  I'll  never  go  there  any  more. 

And  I  was  wondering  what  kind  of 
things  they  said  there  and  what  they 
did. 

Well,  they  didn't  say  much  when  I 
struck  it  and  there  was  nothing  doing 
to  speak  of,  except  people  rushing  along 
minding  their  own  business.  It  may 
have  been  wicked,  but  it  isn't  now.  It 
is  a  business  street  and  that  is  all.  There 
is  an  "Elevated"  over  the  street,  which 
makes  noise  enough  to  raise  the  dead, 
and  a  lot  of  cheap-looking  stores  and 
restaurants.  There  is  any  number  of 
"hat-blocking"  establishments  run  by 
Hebrews,  and  the  whole  street  in  fact, 
seems  like  a  section  of  Jerusalem.  Jews 
till  you  can't  rest.  There  may  be  some 
knock-down-and-drag-out  places,  but 
these  are  not  confined  to  the  Bowery. 
There  are  other  streets  far  worse. 


135 


No,  the  Bowery  today  is  a  peaceful, 
quiet  street,  and  there  isn't  "anything 
doing"  worth  speaking  about. 

New  York  has  some  fine  streets,  such 
as  Broadway,  Fifth  Avenue,  Madison 
Square,  Twenty-third  Street,  Four- 
teenth Street,  etc.  Broadway  is  the 
main  business  street  and  begins  at 
Bowling  Green  and  runs  up  to  Central 
Park  and  thence  beyond.  It  is  several 
miles  long,  its  lower  portion  from  Bowl- 
ing Green  to  Fourteenth  Street  being 
lined  on  either  side  by  many  sky-scrap- 
ers and  massive  wholesale  business  es- 
tablishments, and  from  Fourteenth 
Street  up,  by  retail  stores.  Rents  are 
high  on  this  street  and  the  buildings 
fine.  Fifth  Avenue  is  not  so  long  as 
Broadway  and  contains  the  residences 
of  many  millionaires  and  less  rich  peo- 
ple. There  is  lots  of  style  and  wealth 
on  that  street. 

The  Central  Park  is  a  beautiful  spot. 
It  runs  from  Fifty-ninth  Street  to  One 
Hundred  and  Tenth  Street,  and  from 
Fifth  to  Eighth  Avenue.  It  is  two  and 
a  half  miles  long  by  about  two  miles 
wide,  and  isn't  big  enough  sometimes 


136 


to  contain  the  crowds  of  people  that 
flock  into  it.  It  contains  shady  walks 
and  trees,  lawns,  baseball  grounds, 
lakes,  casinos,  stately  malls  (  avenues), 
a  large  zoological  collection,  a  great  art 
gallery,  an  immense  natural  history 
building,  extensive  drives,  secluded 
nooks  for  love-making,  and  lots  of  other 
nice  things.  Around  its  grand  entrance 
at  Fifth  Avenue  are  some  of  the  largest 
and  swellest  hotels  in  New  York. 

As  everyone  knows,  of  course,  New 
York  is  the  largest  city  in  the  country 
and  the  most  cosmopolitan.  It  is  the 
center  of  art,  trade  and  finance,  and 
its  population  is  composed  of  all  sorts. 
There  are  as  many  Irish  as  in  the  larg- 
est city  in  Ireland,  as  many  Germans, 
almost,  as  in  Hamburg,  as  many  Jews 
as  in  Jerusalem,  and  a  big  crowd  of 
almost  every  nationality  under  the  sun. 
The  main  part  of  the  city  is  situated  on 
Manhattan  Island,  and  it  is  overcrowd- 
ed, compelling  the  overplus  to  seek  the 
suburbs  and  other  near-by  localities. 
Even  these  are  becoming  too  well  popu- 
lated. Jersey  City,  Newark,  Brooklyn, 
Paterson,   Kearney,   Harrison,    Staten 


137 


Island,  Coney  Island,  etc.,  are  increas- 
ing in  population  all  too  rapidly.  New 
York  is  one  of  the  "step  lively"  towns, 
and  you  are  expected  to  hustle  there, 
whether  you  want  to  or  not.  It  is  all 
your  life  is  worth  sometimes  to  cross  a 
street,  and  a  car  won't  stop  long 
enough  to  enable  you  to  get  on  or  off. 
The  tenement  sections  are  studies  in 
human  life,  and  malodorous  ones  at 
that.  The  throngs  are  wonderful  to 
behold. 

If  you  have  plenty  of  money  New 
York  is  an  interesting  place  to  live  in. 
You  will  never  feel  dull  there.  You  can 
live  in  some  pretty  suburb  and  go  back 
and  forth  every  morning  and  evening, 
as  thousands  do ;  or  you  can  live  in  the 
city  and  ride  out  into  the  country  every 
day  by  carriage,  train  or  boat.  In  the 
good  old  summer  time,  if  you  live  in  the 
city,  you  can  go  to  Manhattan  or 
Brighton  Beach,  Coney  Island,  North 
Beach,  South  Beach,  Rockaway,  Fire 
Island,  Long  Branch,  the  Highlands, 
Shrewsbury  River  and  a  thousand  and 
one  other  resorts  in  the  vicinity.  There 


138 


is  no  lack  of  amusement  or  pleasure 
places. 

Even  the  very  poor  can  find  lots  of 
pleasant  places  to  go,  around  New 
York,  for  the  fares  are  low.  For  ten 
cents  one  can  ride  from  New  York  to 
Coney  Island,  a  distance  of  over  twenty 
miles;  to  Fort  George  for  five  cents, 
fifteen  miles  or  more;  to  Manhattan 
Beach,  South  Beach,  Staten  Island, 
Newark,  up  the  Hudson,  and  lots  of 
other  places.  In  the  city  itself,  and 
free  for  all,  are  the  Aquarium,  Art  Gal- 
leries, Public  Squares,  Parks,  Roof  Gar- 
dens along  the  two  rivers  (the  Hudson 
and  East  Rivers),  the  animals  in  Bronx 
and  Central  Parks,  the  museums  and 
other  things.  There  is  always  something 
to  hear  and  see  in  New  York  City  at  all 
hours  of  the  day  and  night. 

■  New  York  surely  is  quite  a  sizeable 
village,  and  to  judge  from  the  way  it 
has  been  growing,  ten  years  from  now 
it  will  extend  a  hundred  miles  or  more 
up  the  Hudson,  to  Albany,  maybe. 


139 

CHAPTER  V. 

THEM  BLOOMIN'  PUBLISHERS. 

Before  I  say  much  more  about  New 
York  I  want  to  say  a  word  about  the 
book  publishers  of  that  city,  for  I  got  to 
know  a  little  something  about  them.  I 
will  relate  my  experiences  among  them, 
which  will  enable  others  to  judge  what 
they  are  like.  I  wanted  to  find  a  pub- 
lisher for  this  book,  and  was  told  that 
New  York  is  the  proper  place  to  do 
business  of  that  kind. 

The  first  publisher  I  attempted  to  do 
business  with  has  a  large  establishment 
on  Vandewater  Street,  which  is  not  far 
from  the  Brooklyn  Bridge.  I  asked  an 
elevator  man  who  stood  in  the  hallway 
of  this  building  where  I  could  find  the 
boss. 

"Which  boss?"  asked  he,  with  a  huge 
grin,  for  he  probably  deemed  me  some 
country  jay  looking  for  a  job.  My  ap- 
pearance was  not  very  respect-inspir- 
ing, to  say  the  truth ;  not  for  New  York, 
anyway. 


140 


"The  head  of  this  establishment/'  an- 
swered I,  placidly. 

"What  do  you  want  to  see  him 
about?    Are  you  looking  for  a  job?" 

"No,  I'm  not;  I  want  to  have  some 
printing  done." 

"Oh,  that's  the  ticket,  is  it?  The 
superintendent  is  the  man  you  want  to 
see.  He's  on  the  top-floor.  Come  with 
me  and  I'll  take  you  up  to  him." 

I  stepped  into  the  elevator  and  up  we 
shot.  We  never  stopped  until  we  struck 
the  top  landing,  where  a  door  confront- 
ed us  which  opened  into  a  huge  apart- 
ment that  was  full  of  type-stands, 
presses,  paper-cutters  and  printing  ma- 
chinery of  all  sorts.  At  the  furthest 
end  of  this  huge  apartment  were  some 
offices. 

Upon  my  entrance  into  the  large 
apartment  a  man  stepped  up  to  me  and 
wanted  to  know  what  I  wanted. 

"I'd  like  to  see  the  superintendent." 

"Looking  for  a  job,  cully?"  asked  this 
gentleman. 

"Well,  hardly,"  responded  I.  "I  want 
to  have  some  printing  done." 

"Oh,  you  do,  eh?     You'll    find    the 


141 


super  in  the  rear  office;  away  in  the 
back/'  and  he  waved  his  hand  toward 
the  rear. 

I  walked  toward  the  rear  and  was 
met  by  a  small  boy,  who  came  out  of  an 
office  and  wanted  to  know  my  business. 

"I  want  to  see  the  superintendent, 
sonny,"  said  I. 

"What  do  you  want  to  see  him 
about?"  asked  the  kid. 

"Never  you  mind ;  I  want  to  see  him." 

"Will  you  please  let  me  have  your 
card?" 

"My  card?  What  do  you  want  my 
card  for?" 

"So  as  to  let  the  boss  know  who  you 
are." 

"He  don't  know  me;  anyway,  I 
haven't  got  a  card." 

"Will  you  please  write  your  name 
and  the  nature  of  your  business  on  this 
tablet?  and  I'll  take  it  to  him,"  said 
the  boy,  handing  me  a  writing  tablet 
and  pencil. 

I  didn't  understand  this  method  of 
doing  business  but  I  did  as  requested. 
The  boy  took  the  card  in  and  presently 


142 


the  superintendent  appeared.  His  name 
was  Axtell. 

"What  can  I  do  for  you?"  promptly 
asked  Mr.  Axtell,  without  any  prelimi- 
naries. Probably  he  was  a  busy  man. 

"I  have  written  a  book,  sir,  and  I 
want  to  have  it  printed." 

The  gent  looked  at  me  contemplative- 
ly. What  his  thoughts  were  I  don't 
know. 

"What  kind  of  a  book  is  it  you've 
written?  History,  travel,  poetry,  novel 
or  what?" 

I  told  him  it  was  a  novel. 

"How  many  pages  will  the  book  con- 
tain?" asked  the  superintendent. 

"There  will  be  four  or  five  hundred 
pages,  I  guess,  as  near  as  I  can  figure 
it,"  responded  I. 

"How  many  copies  will  you  want?" 

"I'll  leave  that  to  you,  sir,  for  you 
know  best.  This  is  my  first  book,  and 
though  I  don't  think  it  is  going  to  set 
the  world  on  fire,"  said  I  modestly,  "I 
think  a  first  edition  of  about  ten  thou- 
sand copies  would  be  the  thing.  Don't 
you  think  that  would  do  for  a  starter?" 

"It  might,"  said  he  contemplatively. 


143 


"Excuse  me,"  continued  he  as  he  sat 
down  at  his  desk  and  began  to  do  some 
figuring.  When  he  got  through  he  turned 
to  me  and  said:  "Ten  thousand  copies 
of  the  book  in  paper  cover  will  cost  you 
in  the  neighborhood  of  $1000." 

"Cost  me  $1000,"  almost  shrieked  I. 
"I  wanted  to  know  what  you'll  give  me 
for  the  manuscript  and  print  it  your- 
self." 

A  cold  glare  froze  in  the  gent's  eye. 
"We  only  print  'reprint'  here ;  we  do  not 
buy  manuscripts."  I  did  not  under- 
stand, and  the  gent  judged  so  from  my 
demeanor,  for  he  added :  "You  want  to 
see  a  publisher.  Go  up  to  Twenty-third 
Street;  you'll  find  lots  of  them  up  that 
way." 

I  did  not  know  the  difference  between 
a  printer  and  a  publisher  at  that  time, 
so  that  is  how  I  came  to  make  the  mis- 
take. 

Up  Twenty-third  Street  way  I  went. 
Twenty-third  Street  was  a  pretty  swell 
one,  far  too  swell  for  rather  a  seedy- 
looking  chap  like  me. 

I  came  upon  the  establishment  of 
Messrs.  Graham  &  Sons,  which  was  one 


144 


of  the  swellest  on  the  street.  It  was  con- 
tained in  a  six-story  marble  building, 
all  ornaments  and  furbelows  in  front, 
and  it  was  so  swell  that  it  made  me  feel 
small.  The  store  must  have  been  at 
least  200  feet  long  and  nearly  as  wide 
as  it  was  long.  A  small  part  of  this 
vast  space  was  divided  off  into  offices, 
but  by  far  the  greater  portion  was  de- 
voted to  the  exposure  of  books.  Books 
were  piled  around  till  you  couldn't  rest 
— on  counters,  shelves,  in  elaborate 
glass  cases,  and  on  the  floor,  even.  All 
were  handsomely  bound  and  good  to 
look  at.  When  I  saw  the  conglomeration 
my  heart  sank. 

"Look  at  all  this  array,  Windy,"  said 
I  to  myself;  "where  are  you  going  to 
get  off  at?  You  want  to  add  another 
book  to  this  little  pile,  do  you?  You 
are  all  kinds  of  a  fool." 

For  a  few  moments  I  was  discour- 
aged, but  the  feeling  did  not  last  long. 
I  am  an  optimist,  a  fellow  who  never 
gets  discouraged.  Instantly  I  mustered 
courage  and  walked  up  to  a  white- 
haired  old  gentleman  whom  I  told  that 
I  would  like  to  see  the  proprietor.    The 


145 


old  gentleman  told  me  that  he  was  in  his 
office  on  the  top  floor  of  the  building.  Up 
I  went  to  see  him.  When  I  reached  the 
top  floor,  which  was  a  sort  of  literary 
symposium  and  printing  office  com- 
bined, a  small  boy  came  forward  and 
asked  me  my  business.  I  told  him, 
whereupon  he  asked  me  for  my  card.  As 
I  hadn't  any,  I  wrote  my  name  and  the 
nature  of  my  business  on  a  tablet,  and 
the  boy  took  it  into  an  office.  A  well- 
groomed  and  handsome  young  gentle- 
man came  forward  and  asked  me  to  be 
seated.  It  was  in  an  outer,  not  walled- 
in  office,  but  even  the  furniture  in  it 
was  swell. 

After  exchanging  airy  compliments 
and  discussing  the  weather  a  bit,  the 
gentleman  remarked  en  passant,  "You 
have  written  a  book?" 

That  broke  the  ice.  I  told  him  I  had 
and  then  we  proceeded  to  business.  He 
wanted  to  know  the  nature  of  the  book 
and  such  other  things  as  were  well  for 
him  to  know.  I  then  asked  a  few  ques- 
tions myself.  • 

"What  do  you  pay  authors  for  their 
books,  Mr.  Graham?" 


146 


"That  depends,"  replied  he.  "We 
usually  pay  a  royalty  of  $500  down  and 
ten  per  cent  on  every  book  sold,  after 
that." 

I  thought  that  was  a  pretty  fair  rat- 
tle out  of  the  box.  I  concluded  to  leave 
my  writings  with  Mr.  Graham  on  those 
terms  and  he  consented  to  receive  them. 
I  knew  he  had  but  to  read  to  accept.  I 
always  was  optimistic,  as  I  said  before. 
Mr.  Graham  requested  me  to  leave  my 
address,  so  he  could  communicate  with 
me.  He  informed  me  I  would  hear  from 
him  in  a  few  days.  I  did.  In  a  few 
days  I  got  a  note  from  him  in  a  high- 
toned,  crested  envelope,  which  stated 
that  "the  first  reader"  of  the  house  had 
read  the  book  and  found  good  points  in 
it,  but  that  "the  second  reader"  was 
dubious.  To  make  sure  he,  Mr.  Graham, 
had  read  the  book  himself  and  wasn't 
certain  whether  there  was  any  money 
in  it.  Under  these  circumstances  he 
was  constrained  to  forego  the  pleasure 
of  publication,  etc.,  etc.,  etc.  These 
were  not  his  exact  words,*  but  their  sub- 
stance. After  reading  the  kind  note  I 
concluded  to   jump   off   the    Brooklyn 


147 


Bridge,  but  thought  better  of  it. 
Messrs.  Graham  &  Sons  were  not  the 
only  pebbles  on  the  beach,  so  why  not 
see  what  I  could  do  elsewhere.  That's 
what  I  did — tried  my  luck  elsewhere. 
There  were  other  publishers  on  Twenty- 
third  Street  and  if  Graham  &  Sons  did 
not  know  a  good  thing  when  they  saw  it, 
others  might. 

On  the  same  block,  only  a  few  doors 
distant,  was  another  large  firm.  To 
them  I  went.  A  small  little  man  with  a 
Scotch  accent  sat  in  the  ante-room  and 
asked  me  what  I  was  after.  He  wanted 
my  card,  too,  but  didn't  get  it.  He  went 
in  to  see  Mr.  Phillips,  the  editor  of  the 
publishing  house,  and  this  gentleman 
turned  me  down  in  short  order.  He  told 
me  that  there  are  too  many  books  pub- 
lished nowadays,  and  that  books  of 
travel  were  a  drug  on  the  market.  The 
cuss  told  me  everything  in  the  world  to 
discourage  me,  but  he  couldn't  do  it. 
I  just  went  around  to  see  some  of  the 
other  publishers,  but  none  of  them 
would  "touch"  the  story  at  any  price 
and  each  one  had  a  different  reason  for 
refusing.    I  was  unknown,    poor   and 


148 


obscure,  and  that  settled  it.  There  was 
no  show  there  for  me.  To  get  along  one 
must  be  rich  or  have  "a  pull." 


CHAPTER  VI. 
THE  OCEAN  VOYAGE. 

I  put  in  the  winter  in  New  York 
working  at  Berry's,  one  of  the  swellest 
catering  houses  in  the  city.  It  is  situ- 
ated on  Fifth  Avenue  and  is  a  rival  of 
the  great  Delmonico  establishments. 
The  nobs  of  New  York,  when  they  want 
to  give  a  little  dinner  or  supper  at 
home,  see  Berry,  who  furnishes  all  the 
fine  grub,  cooks,  waiters,  dishes,  plates, 
etc.,  or  if  they  want  to  eat  at  his  place 
they  can  do  so,  for  he  has  private  din- 
ing-rooms, ball-rooms,  etc.,  where  they 
can  have  anything  they  want,  providing 
they  have  the  price  to  pay  for  it.  He 
employs  a  lot  of  people  in  his  establish- 
ment, in  the  shape  of  a  housekeeper, 
chambermaids,  male  chefs  and  assist- 
ants, waiters,  omnibuses,  porters,  head- 
waiters,  superintendents  and  a  window- 


149 


cleaner.  I  was  the  window-cleaner.  It 
was  the  softest  snap  I  had  ever  struck. 
I  worked  from  8  in  the  morning  until 
about  dusk,  and  all  I  had  to  do  was  to 
keep  every  window  in  the  house  as 
bright  and  shiny  as  a  new  dollar.  The 
building  is  a  large  one  and  the  windows 
are  many,  but  it  was  no  trick  at  all  to 
keep  them  clean.  I  cleaned  a  few  win- 
dows every  day  and  put  in  a  whole  lot 
of  unnecessary  time  at  it. 

I  got  twenty-five  dollars  a  month  for 
the  job  with  board  thrown  in.  The 
board  was  extra  fine.  Roast  goose  and 
chicken  for  dinner  every  day  (left  over 
victuals,  of  course),  crab,  shrimp  and 
potato  salads,  oysters  in  any  style,  rich 
puddings,  pies  and  cakes,  wines  of  all 
vintages — say,  sonny,  we  lived  there 
and  no  mistake.  I  had  struck  a  home. 
I  held  the  job  down  all  winter  and 
saved  a  little  money. 

I  told  some  of  my  fellow-workers, 
both  male  and  female,  that  I  intended  to 
take  a  little  flyer  to  the  old  country  in 
the  spring,  and  they  laughed  at  me  and 
guyed  me  unmercifully. 

One  fine  spring   day    "when    fancy 


150 


lightly  turns  to  thoughts  of  love"  as  I 
once  saw  it  stated  in  a  novel,  I  strolled 
down  Bowling  Green  where  the  steam- 
ship offices  are  located  and  got  pointers 
for  my  little  trip.  I  learned  that  I  could 
go  to  London  direct,  to  Amsterdam, 
Rotterdam  and  several  other  dams;  to 
Hamburg,  Southampton,  Liverpool, 
Havre,  Glasgow  and  to  so  many  other 
places  that  I  grew  bewildered. 

As  I  stood  in  front  of  the  Cunard  line 
office  a  young  fellow  stepped  up  to  me 
and  asked: 

"Say,  mister,  are  you  thinking  of 
going  to  Yurrup?" 

I  didn't  think  it  was  any  of  his  busi- 
ness, so  I  said : 

"What  do  you  want  to  know  for?" 

"Who,  me?"  replied  he,  taking  time 
to  gather  his  wits.  "I'm  connected  with 
a  ticket  agency  around  on  Greenwich 
Street,  and  if  you  want  a  ticket  cheap, 
come  with  me  and  HI  get  you  one." 

"How  cheap?"  asked  I. 

"That'll  depend  on  where  you  want 
to  g*o  to.  We  sell  tickets  to  all  places 
mio-hty  cheap.  Where  do  you  want  to 
go? 


>?" 


151 


"Don't  know  yet;  haven't  decided." 

"Let  me  sell  you  a  ticket  to  Glasgow 
on  the  Anchor  line.  That  line  will  take 
you  to  Ireland  and  Scotland  and  is  the 
finest  trip  in  the  world." 

"What's  the  fare?"  inquired  I. 

"Only  thirty  dollars,"  answered  he, 
"and  you  will  get  your  money's  worth." 

I  didn't  think  I'd  see  much  of  Ireland 
or  Scotland  if  I  bought  a  ticket  from 
him,  so  I  told  him  I'd  see  him  later. 

I  wandered  into  the  Anchor  Line 
office  and  asked  the  ticket  agent  what 
the  price  of  a  ticket  to  Glasgow  would 
be. 

"Cabin  or  steerage?"  inquired  he. 

"Steerage,  of  course ;  I'm  no  Vander- 
bilt." 

The  agent  looked  at  me  quizzingly 
and  then  remarked:  "From  twenty- 
seven  dollars  upward,  according  to  ac- 
commodation." 

I  didn't  know  what  he  meant  by  "ac- 
commodation" but  I  thought  twenty- 
seven  dollars  was  enough  for  me. 

"Do  you  want  a  ticket?"  asked  the 
agent,  as  if  he  were  in  a  hurry. 


152 


"I  haven't  the  price  with  me  now," 
said  I. 

"What  did  you  come  here  for  then/' 
snapped  he. 

"For  information,"  snapped  I. 

He  saw  that  I  was  getting  huffy  so 
he  pulled  in  his  horns  and  said:  "We 
can  take  you  to  Scotland  in  pretty  good 
shape  for  twenty-seven  dollars.  You  will 
have  a  good  berth  and  the  best  of  food, 
and  we'll  land  you  in  Glasgow  in  less 
than  ten  days  from  the  time  you  leave 
here.  What  do  you  say ;  shall  I  give  you 
a  ticket?" 

I  "  cogitated.  The  prospect  looked 
good  to  me. 

"Yes,"  said  I  impulsively,  "give  me 
a  ticket!" 

I  gave  him  my  name,  as  he  requested, 
answered  all  the  questions  he  put  to  me, 
and  in  a  jiffy  he  had  the  ticket  made 
out  for  me. 

"What's  the  name  of  the  ship  I'm  go- 
ing to  sail  on?"  asked  I. 

"The  Furnessia,"  answered  he,  add- 
ing, "she  will  leave  from  the  foot  of 
West  Twenty-fourth  Street  on   Satur- 


153 


day  morning  at  nine  o'clock  sharp.  Be 
on  hand  at  that  time,  or  you'll  get  left." 

"Don't  you  worry  about  me  getting 
left,"  retorted  I ;  "I'll  be  there  all  right." 

Was  I  happy  after  I  bought  the 
ticket?  I  can't  say  that  I  was,  for  I 
wasn't  at  all  positive  whether  I  had  bet- 
ter go.  I  didn't  know  what  the  old  coun- 
try would  be  like,  so  that  visions  of  all 
kinds  of  trouble  floated  through  my  nod- 
dle, but  faint  heart  never  won  a  fair 
lady.  I  might  as  well  be  found  dead  in 
Europe  as  in  any  other  place.  What's 
the  dif  ? 

This  was  Thursday  and  the  ship  was 
to  sail  on  Saturday.  It  seemed  to  me  a 
long  time  to  wait  for  when  I  go  any- 
where I  like  to  go  in  a  hurry. 

Saturday  morning  came  and  I  arose 
brieht  and  early.  I  slept  very  little  that 
ni^ht,  for  I  was  thinking,  thinking, 
thinking.  After  arising  and  hav- 
ing a  cup  of  coffee  I  took  my  time 
strolling  down  toward  the  steam- 
ship pier.  After  I  arrived  there  I  was 
about  to  enter  the  long  covered  shed, 
when  an  official  strode  up  to  me  and 
asked  me  where  I  was  going.    I  carried 


154 


no  baggage  of  any  sort  and  didn't  think 
I  needed  any.  I  am  too  old  a  traveler 
to  encumber  myself  with  baggage.  All 
I  carried  was  on  my  person.  I  told  the 
official  I  was  bound  for  Europe  on  the 
Furnessia  and  showed  him  my  ticket. 
He  looked  at  it  and  let  me  pass.  I  went 
on  board. 

When  I  reached  the  deck  a  young  man 
dressed  in  a  white  jacket  and  peaked 
cap  asked  me  if  I  were  a  married  man. 

I  didn't  think  it  was  any  of  his  busi- 
ness, so  I  asked  him  what  he  wanted  to 
know  for. 

The  young  fellow  frowned  and  ex- 
claimed: "Don't  give  me  no  language, 
young  feller;  I  want  to  know  if  yer 
married  or  single."  I  told  him  I  was  a 
single  man,  whereupon  he  said:  "You 
go  forward  to  the  quarters  for  single 
men !" 

"Where's  that?"  queried  I. 

"For'ard  of  the  main  hatch,"  re- 
sponded he.  I  didn't  know  the  difference 
between  a  main  hatch  and  a  chicken 
hatch,  but  I  went  up  to  the  front  part 
of  the  vessel  where  I  saw  several  sail- 
ors slinging  trunks  down    a   hole   by 


155 


means  of  a  rope.  I  walked  up  to  them 
and  asked  one  of  them  who  wasn't  too 
busy  to  answer  a  question,  where  the 
main  hatch  was. 

"It's  in  the  fo'-castle,"  says  Jack, 
with  a  wink  at  his  mates;  do  you  want 
it?" 

"No,"  said  I.  "I  don't;  where's  the 
quarters  for  the  single  men. 

"Oh,  that's  what  you're  after,  is  it? 
You  follows  your  nose  till  you  gets  to 
the  bows,  and  then  you'll  see  a  compan- 
ionway  down  which  you  goes." 

"All  right,"  says  I;  "thank  you." 
The  directions  weren't  clear,  .but  I 
guessed  I  could  find  my  way.  I  went 
forward  through  rows  of  boxes,  trunks, 
valises,  ropes  and  other  impediments, 
and  finally  came  to  a  stairway  over 
which  was  a  hood  or  sliding  cover.  This 
stairway  was  almost  straight  up  and 
down,  with  rough  brass  plates  on  each 
step  to  prevent  one  from  slipping.  At 
either  side  of  it  was  a  rope  in  lieu  of  a 
balustrade. 

That  stairway  did  not  look  good  to 
me. 


156 

CHAPTER  VII. 
THE  STEERAGE. 

As  soon  as  I  tried  to  go  down  the 
stairway  there  was  trouble,  trouble  of 
the  worst  kind.  I  could  get  down  all 
right,  but  when  I  got  down  a  few  steps 
an  odor  came  up  that  made  me  pause. 
The  odor  was  not  of  stale  onions,  a  rot- 
ting steer  or  anything  like  that,  but 
an  indefinable  one.  I  never  smelt  any- 
thing like  it  before  and  it  conquered 
me  at  once.  It  caught  me  right  in  the 
throat  and  though  I  tried  to  swallow 
I  couldn't  do  so  to  save  my  life.  I  be- 
gan to  chew  as  if  I  were  chewing  to- 
bacco, and  the  lump  rose  in  my  throat 
and  wouldn't  go  up  nor  down.  I  hadn't 
drunk  a  drop  that  morning  excepting  a 
cup  of  coffee,  so  it  couldn't  have  been 
liquor  that  upset  me.  It  must  have 
been  the  smell  and  nothing  else.  I 
stood  on  a  step  holding  to  the  side  rope 
to  steady  myself  and  hesitated  about 
going  down.  I  grew  dizzy  and  thought 
I  was  going  to  fall  but  held  on  like  grim 
death. 


157 


"Come  Windy,"  says  I  to  myself, 
"your  bunk  is  below,  and  you'll  have 
to  go  down  to  it  or  someone  else  will 
get  it.  This  won't  do." 

I  went  down  slowly  and  the  further 
down  I  got  the  stronger  the  smell  be- 
came. Suddenly  I  got  very  sick.  I  felt 
like  giving  up  the  enterprise  right  then 
and  there  but  as  my  friends  would  have 
had  the  laugh  on  me  if  I  did  so,  I  con- 
cluded to  see  the  thing  out. 

I  had  to  go  down  the  stairway, 
though,  there  was  no  getting  around 
that;  I  had  to  select  a  berth,  and  to  do 
that  I  had  to  go  below.  I  kind  of  fooled 
around  and  hesitated  to  make  the 
plunge  but  finally  I  mustered  courage 
and  made  the  attempt  once  more.  I 
went  down  very  slowly,  holding  my 
hand  over  my  nose  and  mouth.  I  got 
down  a  few  steps  and  then  I  stopped 
again.  I  just  couldn't.  I  just  laid  down 
where  I  was  and  fired  away  like  a  good 
fellow.    I  was  more  than  willing  to  die. 

As  I  lay  there  a  jacky  suddenly  came 
down,  airy-fairy  fashion,  as  if  he  were 
dancing  on  eggs,  and  in  his  hands  he 
carried  a  long,  black  tin  pan  in  which 


158 


was  his  mate's  breakfast,  consisting  of 
meat,  gravy  and  potatoes. 

I  caught  a  whiff  of  the  mess  and  oh 
mercy!  When  jacky  got  down  to  the 
bottom  and  saw  me  sitting  there  and 
the  muss  I  had  made  he  became  very 
indignant  and  wanted  to  know  what 
I  meant  by  mussing  up  the  ship  like 
that. 

"Why  don't  you  go  on  deck  if  you 
want  to  be  sick?"  said  he. 

Had  I  been  well  I  would  have  swiped 
the  heartless  cuss  one  just  for  luck,  but 
I  was  too  weak  to  speak,  even.  I  fired 
away  again  and  seeing  this,  Jacky  flew 
away  as  if  the  devil  was  after  him. 

After  a  good  long  time  I  got  down 
in  the  steerage  and  saw  the  steerage 
steward  who  was  a  Scotchman  with  a 
broad  accent,  and  he  gave  me  a  berth. 
He  noticed  that  I  had  been  sick  and 
advised  me  to  go  upstairs  and  get  all  the 
fresh  air  I  could. 

I  acted  on  his  advice  and  made  my 
wav  up  the  stairway  again  as  quickly 
as  I  could,  but  that  wasn't  very  quick. 

When  I  got  on  deck  the  fresh  air  re- 
vived me  somewhat,  but  it  seemed  to 


159 


me  as  if  my  stomach  were  all  gone. 
There  was  an  "all  gone"  feeling  there, 
sure  enough. 

The  ship  was  getting  ready  to  start 
by  this  time.  An  officer  mounted  a 
raised  deck  over  the  forecastle  and  gave 
orders  to  heave  the  hawsers  off.  The 
captain,  who  stood  on  the  bridge,  sig- 
nalled to  the  engineer  below  to  let  her 
go,  and  off  we  were. 

Slowly  we  moved  out  from  the  pier, 
to  the  farewells  of  the  multitudes  on 
shore  and  on  deck.  Some  blubbered, 
but  ne'er  a  blubber  from  me.  I  wasn't 
caring  whether  school  kept  or  not. 

The  vessel's  prow  after  she  got  out 
of  her  dock  was  turned  down  the  Hud- 
son toward  the  Battery,  and  she  went 
well  out  into  the  middle  of  the  stream. 

This  afforded  us  a  good  view  of  the 
river.  On  one  side  was  the  New  York 
shore,  and  on  the  other,  the  Jersey. 
Panoramas  of  houses  and  docks  on 
either  side  swept  by  us  as  we  moved 
along,  and  sky-scrapers  loomed  up 
prominently. 

We  passed  pretty  close  to  the  Goddess 
of  Liberty,  and  saw  plainly  Governor's 


160 


Island,  Ellis  Island,  Fort  Hamilton, 
Fort  Wordsworth,  Bath  Beach,  Staten 
Island  and  Coney  Island.  Quickly 
enough  we  were  abreast  of  Sandy  Hook, 
which  was  the  last  point  of  land  we 
would  see  until  we  reached  Europe. 
Straight  ahead  of  us  was  nothing  but 
sky  and  water. 

It  was  now  nearly  noon.  I  had  eaten 
nothing  that  morning  and  what  I  had 
eaten  yesterday  was  mostly  downstairs 
in  the  hallway.  The  fresh  sea-breeze 
had  revived  me  a  little  and  now  I  felt 
that  I  could  eat  something.  None  of 
the  passengers  had  eaten  anything 
since  they  came  on  board,  and  prob- 
ably they,  too,  must  have  been  hungry, 
for  when  the  dinner  bell  rang  there  was 
a  mighty  stampede.  Some  of  them 
didn't  take  time  to  rush  downstairs, 
they  just  dropped  down. 

The  dinner  was  good.  There  was 
plenty  of  nourishing  soup  on  hand,  a 
liberal  allowance  of  meat,  vegetables, 
bread,  butter  and  coffee.  No  one  need 
have  gone  hungry.  All  the  other  meals 
were  satisfactory,  though  an  occasional 
one  was  punky.     Of  course  there  were 


161 


kickers,  but  those  kind  of  people  will 
be  found  everywhere. 

The  second  day  out  was  Sunday,  and 
it  was  a  fine  spring  day,  but  on  Monday 
morning  clouds  began  to  gather  and 
tried  to  work  up  a  storm.  They  suc- 
ceeded all  too  speedily.  The  sky  be- 
came black,  the  wind  roared  up  aloft, 
the  masts  hummed,  timbers  creaked, 
the  ship  rolled  from  side  to  side  and  then 
rose  and  fell;  the  cordage  whipped 
against  the  masts  and  everything 
looked  lovely  for  a  first-class  storm.  I 
got  scared.  I  hated  to  die  so  young, 
but  what's  the  odds?  The  waves  were 
high  as  mountains  and  to  me  seemed 
about  as  mean  looking  as  anything  I 
ever  saw.  They  were  white  on  top  and 
made  straight  for  us.  We  could  not 
run  away  from  them.  I  was  on  deck 
waiting  to  see  the  storm  out,  for  what 
was  the  use  going  below  and  being 
drowned  there?  If  I  was  to  die  I 
would  die  game  and  at  the  front.  It 
didn't  seem  to  me  that  anything  built 
by  human  hands  could  withstand  the 
buffeting  of  those  waves.  The  force 
of  the  sky-scraping  billows  was  awful. 


162 


They  kind  of  made  me  wilt  when  I 
looked  at  them. 

I  survived  that  storm  or  I  wouldn't 
be  writing  this.  If  you  catch  me  on 
the  sea  again  though,  you'll  have  to  be 
a  fast  runner. 

I  was  told  that  we  would  see  land 
again  by  the  following  Sunday  and  I 
was  sort  of  pining  to  see  it.  It  was 
a  wait  of  several  long  days,  but  I  didn't 
have  much  else  to  do  than  wait.  There 
was  nothing  to  do  on  board  except  to 
eat,  sleep  and  wait.  I  got  pretty  badly 
drenched  during  the  storm.  A  huge 
comber  made  a  leap  for  me  and  broke 
right  over  me,  spilling  a  few  tons  of 
water  on  top  of  me.  It  was  a  soaker, 
sure  enough,  and  I  didn't  dry  out  until 
several  days  afterward.  I  had  only  one 
suit  of  clothes  with  me  and  they  were 
on  my  back  so  they  had  no  chance  to 
dry.  I  slept  in  them  to  keep  them 
warm. 

A  life  on  the  ocean  wave  is  a  gay 
thing.  It  is  awful  nice  to  be  spun 
around  like  a  cork  and  then  see-sawed 
up  and  down  with  a  possibility  of  touch- 
ing bottom.    The  heel  over  from  side  to 


163 


side  is  also  very  funny,  for  there  is  a 
good  chance  of  being  shot  overboard 
when  the  ship  jams  suddenly  away  over. 
You  hold  on  wondering  whether  the 
ship  is  going  to  right  herself  or  not.  If 
she  does,  you're  in  luck,  and  if  she 
don't  it's  good-bye  Lisa  Jane.  How 
many  ships  do  tip  over?  Several 
thousand  of  them  every  year.  Luckily, 
the  Furnessia  wasn't  one  of  the  unlucky 
ones  this  trip.  The  worst  that  hap- 
pened to  me  was  a  bad  scare  and  a 
shower-bath.  Maybe  the  water  wasn't 
cold  when  that  wave  struck  me !  Ugh ! 
It  knocked  the  wind  out  of  me  for  a 
moment  and  I  didn't  know  where  I  was 
at.  I  dripped  like  a  drowned  rat  and 
when  my  fellow  passengers  saw  me 
they  roared. 

On  Tuesday  morning  of  the  second 
week  we  saw  the  shores  of  Europe.  We 
had  now  been  out  about  ten  days.  I 
have  read  that  Columbus  and  his  crew 
felt  pretty  good  when  they  saw  land 
again  after  their  eventful  voyage  but 
I'll  bet  a  dollar  to  a  doughnut  they 
didn't  feel  half  as  good  as  I  felt  when  I 
saw  land  again.    I  was  more  than  pin- 


164 


ing  to  see  it.  Ten  days  of  sloppi- 
ness  was  a  whole  lot  for  me.  If  there  is 
any  fun  wandering  around  with  one's 
clothing  sticking  to  one's  back  I  fail  to 
see  it.  I  was  feeling  all  right  and  my 
general  health  was  good,  but  the  lack 
of  sleep  and  the  fetid  odors  down  below 
helped  to  daze  me.  I  was  in  a  sort  of 
pipe  dream  and  hardly  knew  whether  I 
was  afoot  or  on  horseback. 

There  was  land  ahead,  though,  and  I 
felt  like  shouting. 

The  land  ahead  of  us  was  the  coast 
of  Ireland  and  it  looked  good  to  me. 
The  name  of  Ireland  was  familiar  to 
me  since  my  boyhood  days,  and  I  had 
seen  Irishmen  on  the  stage  and  off  it, 
had  heard  songs  sung  about  it  and  had 
heard  it  spoken  of  a  million  times. 
Here  was  the  real  thing  right  before 
me.  I  became  mightily  interested  in 
it  as  did  almost  everyone  else.  The 
Irish  passengers  aboard,  and  there 
were  plenty  of  them,  became  frantic 
with  joy.  Ireland  surely  is  a  beautiful 
country.  Rocky  headlands  we  saw, 
capes,  bays,  towering  mountains  in  the 
background,  green  trees  and  farms.  An 


165 


air  of  romance  seemed  to  hang  over 
the  place  and  the  blue  skies  of  the 
spring  above  looked  down  on  it  kindly. 
We  steered  straight  in  for  the  shore  and 
then  sailed  northward  along  the  coast. 
We  kept  off  shore  only  a  few  miles. 
When  we  got  to  Tory  Island  we  steamed 
between  it  and  the  mainland,  and  had 
a  close  view  of  this  little  islet.  It  was 
only  a  mile  or  two  long  with  a  quaint 
looking  light-house  at  one  end  of  it  and 
a  vegetable  garden  in  bloom  near  by. 
Those  green  things  growing,  how  they 
did  entrance  me! 

At  the  other  end  of  the  isle  were 
rocks  that  towered  up  higher  than  the 
masts  of  our  ship,  and  they  were 
scarred,  seamed  and  causewayed  by 
the  elements.  They  had  taken  the 
strangest  shapes  imaginable. 

We  steamed  through  the  strait  be- 
tween the  island  and  the  mainland 
swiftly,  for  though  the  strait  was  nar- 
row the  channel  was  deep;  then  we 
skirted  southward  along  the  east  coast 
of  Ireland  until  we  came  to  a  broad 
bay,  where  we  anchored.  This  bay 
was  shallow  close  in  to  the  shore,  so 


166 


we  anchored  far  out.  On  the  shore 
was  the  town  of  Moville,  where  the 
Irish  passengers  were  to  disembark  for 
points  in  Ireland.  A  little  tender  came 
steaming  up  and  when  she  was  loaded 
with  baggage  and  passengers,  there 
was  hardly  room  enough  to  swing  a 
cat  in  but  as  the  Irish  passengers  were 
happy,  we  had  no  kick  coming.  The 
warm-hearted  Irish,  bade  us  farewell 
with  many  a  thrown  kiss  and  handker- 
chief flutter.    They  were  off. 

So  we  were  soon,  for  Scotland.  The 
scenes  along  the  east  coast  of  Ireland 
were  no  whit  inferior  to  those  on  the 
west  coast. 

It  did  not  take  us  long  to  reach  Scot- 
land, where  the  scenery  was  enchant- 
ing. Words  are  entirely  inadequate  to 
give  one  a  proper  idea  of  it.  To  be  ap- 
preciated it  must  be  seen  and  felt,  for 
reading  about  it  don't  do  much  good. 

Here,  right  before  us,  were  the  High- 
lands of  Scotland  and  many  a  place 
famous  in  song  and  story. 

In  due  course  of  time  we  reached  the 
Firth  of  Clyde  and  anchored  off  Green- 
ock.   This  was  the  disembarking  point 


167 


for  all  the  passengers.  A  little  steamer 
shot  out  from  Greenock  and  landed  us, 
bag  and  baggage,  at  the  Princess  Pier, 
which  reminded  me  somewhat  of  a  Mis- 
sissippi levee,  for  it  was  stone  paved 
and  sloping.  On  the  pier  cabbies  stood 
about,  touching  their  hats  respectfully, 
but  saying  never  a  word.  They  were 
seeking  "fares,"  and  giving  us  the  tip 
noiselessly.  Newsboys  were  there,  too, 
yelling  in  strange  accents,  "Morning 
Nip!"  "Daily  Bladder,"  etc.,  and  some 
of  them  when  they  got  on  to  my  pres- 
ence and  saw  that  I  was  a  greenhorn, 
made  loud  uncomplimentary  remarks 
about  me  in  language  that  I  couldn't 
understand.  This  rather  embarrassed 
me,  for  I  didn't  like  to  be  made  a  show 
of.  Them  kids  ought  to  have  got  a  kick 
in  the  pants  for  their  freshness  but  the 
more  you  fool  with  some  kids  the  worse 
they  get,  so  I  just  walked  on  minding 
my  business  and  said  nothing. 

All  we  third-raters  were  steered  into 
the  custom  house  where  the  baggage 
was  to  be  examined.  It  didn't  take  the 
authorities  long  to  examine  mine.  A 
quiet,  lynx-eyed  official  asked  me  where 


168 


my  baggage  was  and  when  I  told  him 
I  hadn't  any,  he  jerked  his  head  upward 
and  backward,  giving  me  a  quiet  hint  to 
skip.  I  waited  a  few  moments  and  then 
followed  some  of  the  other  passengers 
to  the  railroad  station,  which  was  close 
by.  Our  destination  was  Glasgow,  and 
Greenock  was  twenty-five  miles  distant, 
so  we  were  compelled  to  make  the  rest 
of  the  journey  by  rail. 

When  I  entered  the  railroad  station  I 
stood  stock  still  for  a  moment  and 
stared.  On  one  side  of  the  station  was 
a  blank  wall  and  on  the  other  a  "buffet/' 
waiting-room,  ticket  office,  "luggage" 
room  and  telegraph  office.  What 
stumped  me  was  the  cars  and  locomo- 
tive. The  cars  were  stage-coaches 
strung  on  wheels  with  no  bumpers  to 
speak  of;  no  blind  baggage,  no  brake- 
beams,  no  nothing.  Where  was  a  fel- 
low to  ride  when  he  was  beating  his 
way?  One  couldn't  beat  it  in  any  shape, 
form  or  manner.  To  say  that  I  was  dis- 
appointed won't  express  my  feelings.  I 
was  totally  discouraged.  I  felt  like  go- 
ing back  home  again  on  the  return  trip 
of  the  Furnessia  but  I  didn't  have  the 


169 


price.  I  had  less  than  fifteen  dollars  in 
my  possession  and  was  up  against  it.  I 
had  no  idea  how  big  a  country  Scotland 
was  or  how  the  walking  would  be,  so  I 
did  some  pretty  lively  thinking.  I  now 
remembered  what  Little  Billy  had  told 
me  and  found  out  that  he  had  told  me 
the  truth.  No,  there  was  no  way  of 
"beating  it"  on  those  kind  of  cars. 

I  mixed  in  with  the  push  on  the  plat- 
form and  began  looking  for  a  comfort- 
able seat  in  a  car.  There  were  only  two 
seats  in  a  car,  facing  each  other,  and 
each  seat  was  capable  of  holding  four 
persons.  Thus  when  there  were  eight 
persons  in  a  coach  it  was  full.  I  made 
a  rush  for  a  seat  where  I  could  view 
the  scenery  comfortably,  and  after  the 
coaches  were  all  filled  and  "all  set,"  the 
doors  were  slammed  shut,  somebody 
outside  blew  a  tin-horn  and  with  a  rat- 
like squeak  from  the  engine  we  were 
off.  The  engine  had  seemed  like  a  toy 
to  me  but  she  was  speedy  and  powerful 
and  could  go  like  a  streak.  Away  we 
clattered  through  tunnels,  past  fields 
and  meadows,  villages  and  towns.  The 
scenery  looked  mighty  foreign-looking 


170 


to  me  and  I  was  uneasy.  I  sure  felt  that 
I  wasn't  at  home.  On  our  right  hand 
side  as  we  sped  up  to  Glasgow  were  the 
fields  and  meadows  I  just  spoke  of,  and 
on  the  other  side  was  a  bare  prairie 
through  which  wound  the  river  Clyde. 
Along  the  banks  of  the  Clyde  were  ship- 
yards which  are  famous  the  world  over. 
I  believe  these  shipyards  are  so  famous 
because  ships  can  be  built  cheaper  and 
better  there  than  anywhere  else.  To  be 
a  Clyde-built  ship  is  usually  a  recom- 
mendation. The  scenery  was  interest- 
ing and  would  have  been  more  so  had 
I  been  happier.  I  was  still  half-dazed 
from  the  want  of  sleep  during  ten 
nights  on  board  ship,  my  clothes  didn't 
feel  right  on  me  from  the  soaking  they 
had  got  and  then  the  disappointment  of 
not  being  able  to  "beat  it,"  affected  me, 
too.  But  it  was  all  in  the  game,  so  I 
had  no  kick  coming.  After  journeying 
about  an  hour  we  came  upon  the  town 
of  Paisley,  which  has  been  famous  for 
centuries  for  the  manufacture  of  "Pais- 
ley shawls."  Large  spool-cotton  fac- 
tories we  could  see  in  the  place  too,  and 


171 


it  seemed  to  be  a  city  of  some  size  and 
consequence. 

In  a  little  while  after  that  we  rushed 
into  St.  Enoch's  station,  Glasgow.  This 
was  our  jumping-off  place.  The  station 
was  a  very  large  and  fine  one,  almost 
as  much  so  as  the  Grand  Central  Sta- 
tion in  New  York.  To  judge  from  the 
station,  Glasgow  must  be  a  sizeable 
place,  for  it  was  first-class  in  every  re- 
spect and  right  up  to  date. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
GLASGOW. 

"All  out  for  Glasgow,"  was  the  cryr 
so  out  we  tumbled. 

I  made  my  way  out  of  the  station  and 
soon  found  myself  upon  the  street, 
where  I  stood  perplexed  and  bewildered. 
It  seemed  to  me  I  had  landed  in  some 
other  world.  Everything  was  so  differ- 
ent— the  houses,  the  stores,  the  streets, 
the  sidewalks,  the  driveways,  the  peo- 
ple, the  vehicles,  the  dogs,  the  horses,  the 
skies,  the  clouds,  everything.     How  or 


172 


where  will  I  begin  to  describe  these 
things?  I  have  a  pretty  big  contract 
on  my  hands,  one  that  I  am  unequal  to. 
I  had  never  seen  so  many  Scotch  peo- 
ple in  a  bunch  before  and  had  no  idea 
there  were  so  many  alive.  There  were 
thousands  of  them,  tens  of  thousands 
of  them.  If  Glasgow  hasn't  got  a  mil- 
lion of  people  then  I  miss  my  guess  sad- 
ly. Scotchmen  till  you  can't  rest,  any- 
where and  everywhere.  Even  the  names 
on  all  the  stores  were  Scotch.  There 
was  MacPherson  and  Blair,  MacTevish, 
MacDonald,  Brown,  Alexander,  Mac- 
Feely.  Shetland  ponies  came  trotting 
by  that  were  about  knee-high  to  a  grass- 
hopper and  though  so  small  they 
dragged  after  them  carriages  in  which 
were  seated  grown  persons.  Why,  a 
grown  man  could  have  picked  up  pony, 
rig  and  all,  and  carried  them.  I  felt 
like  telling  the  people  in  those  rigs  to 
get  out  and  walk,  and  not  disgrace 
themselves  by  making  such  a  little  crea- 
ture in  the  shape  of  a  horse  drag  them 
about.  Oh,  my!  Oh,  my!  What  queer 
things  a  fellow  can  see. 


173 


Here  came  a  two-wheeled  cart  clat- 
tering along  which  was  hauled  by  a 
melancholy-looking  little  donkey  and  it 
was  called  a  "sweet-milk  cart."  I  kept 
my  eyes  peeled  to  see  if  a  "sour-milk" 
cart  would  come  along,  but  I  didn't  see 
any. 

They  designate  their  stores  in  a  curi- 
ous way.  A  butcher  shop  is  called  a 
"flesher's,"  a  furnishing  goods  store  is 
called  a  "haberdashery,"  a  dry  goods 
store  a  "draper's,"  etc.,  etc. 

Say,  pardner,  pinch  me,  will  you?  I 
wonder  whether  I  am  alive. 

By  this  time  I  had  stopped  gazing 
standing  still,  and  walked  along,  for 
the  people  were  getting  on  to  the  fact 
that  I  was  a  greenhorn.  My  dress  and 
appearance,  and  the  way  I  stared  gave 
me  away.  As  I  walked  along  unsteadily, 
still  feeling  that  the  ship  was  under  me, 
I  saw  things.  The  houses  were  of  gray 
stone  several  stories  in  height,  with  tall 
chimney  tiles  on  top  all  in  a  cluster; 
stores  on  the  ground  floor  and  dwellings 
overhead.  Nearly  all  of  them  had  man- 
sard roofs.  They  were  nearly  all  alike 
and  their  exterior  seemed  plain  and  dull 


174 


to  me.  But  the  stores  riveted  and  held 
my  attention.  They  were  rather  dingy, 
but  the  show  windows  were  fitted  up 
fine.  Here  was  a  fish  store  in  the  win- 
dow of  which  were  displayed  salmon, 
grilse,  lemons,  plaice,  megrins,  haddock, 
cod,  herrings;  labels  upon  the  platters 
designating  what  they  were.  In  a 
candy  store  I  saw  toffie  balls,  chocolate 
bouncers,  pomfret  cakes,  voice  pastiles, 
and  frosty  nailrods.  I  laughed  and 
wondered  if  they  had  any  railroad 
spikes  and  rails.  Frosty  nailrods  and 
bouncers,  hey!  Well,  I  was  getting  a 
pretty  good  show  for  my  money.  I 
looked  into  a  tobacco  store  and  there 
I  saw  a  vast  array  of  cigars,  tobacco 
and  smokers'  articles.  The  brands  of 
tobacco  had  curious  names,  such  as 
Baillie  Nicol  Jarvey,  Starboard  Navy, 
Tarn  O'Shanter,  Aromatic  Mixture, 
English  Birdseye  and  many  others.  The 
tobacco  and  cigars  were  dear,  tobacco 
being  eight  cents  an  ounce,  and  funny- 
looking  cigars  four  cents  each.  In  the 
clothing  store  windows  I  noticed  clothes 
made  of  excellent  cloth  in  all  varieties, 
that  sold  for  eight  and  ten  dollars  the 


175 


suit.  They  were  fine  and  made  me  feel 
sad,  for  I  hadn't  the  price  to  buy  one, 
though  I  needed  a  suit  badly.  Shoes,  too, 
were  cheap  and  good.  The  windows  of 
all  the  stores  were  heaped  to  profusion 
with  goods,  and  it  seemed  to  me  there 
was  more  stock  in  the  windows  than 
there  was  in  the  stores.  The  wares  were 
displayed  very  temptingly  with  a  price 
tag  on  everything.  The  jewelry  dis- 
played was  more  than  tasteful,  I 
thought;  I  wanted  a  few  diamonds  aw- 
ful bad. 

I  wandered  along  Argyle  street, 
which  seemed  a  broad  and  busy  thor- 
oughfare. The  sidewalks  were  jammed 
and  so  was  the  roadway.  I  sauntered 
along  slowly,  taking  in  the  circus,  for 
it  was  better  than  a  circus  to  me.  It 
was  a  continuous  performance.  Lots  of 
people  gazed  at  me,  nudged  each  other 
and  made  remarks,  but  I  couldn't  catch 
what  they  said.  Probably  they  took  me 
for  some  animal  that  had  escaped  from 
a  menagerie.  I  wasn't  caring,  though, 
what  they  thought.  I  was  having  as 
much  fun  out  of  them  as  they  were  hav- 
ing out  of  me.     I  saw  so  many  queer 


176 


sights  that  I  couldn't  describe  a  tithe  of 
them.  Many  fine  people  drove  by  in 
fine  rigs,  and  some  of  these  wealthy  ones 
were  probably  out  on  shopping  expedi- 
tions. There  were  grand  ladies  and 
gentlemen  in  multitudes,  and  I  figured 
it  out  that  wealth  and  nobility  must  be 
pretty  prevalent  in  Scotland.  Many  of 
the  ladies  were  beauties  of  the  blond 
type  and  the  gentlemen  were  well- 
dressed  and  elegant  in  appearance. 
They  carried  theftiselves  nobly  and 
proudly  and  seemed  stern  yet  manly. 
The  ladies  surely  were  engaging  and  I 
noticed  several  of  them  alight  from  mov- 
ing street  cars  gracefully.  They  didn't 
wait  for  the  car  to  stop,  but  swung  off, 
alighting  in  the  right  direction  every 
time.  Had  they  been  American  ladies 
it  is  more  than  likely  they  would  have 
landed  on  top  of  their  heads.  The  Glas- 
gow ladies  have  mastered  the  trick,  all 
right,  and  mastered  it  well,  for  you 
can't  down  them,  nohow. 

As  I  sauntered  along  slowly,  two 
young  girls  came  along  with  plaid 
shawls  thrown  over  their  shoulders  and 
when  they  got  near  me  one  of  the  girls 


177 


collapsed  and  fell  on  the  sidewalk.  None 
of  the  crowd  stopped,  whereat  I  won- 
dered, but  I  stopped  to  see  what  the 
trouble  was.  If  the  girl  wasn't  as  full 
as  a  goat  you  may  smother  me.  She 
must  have  been  imbibing  too  much  hot 
Scotch.  The  girl  was  in  her  teens,  and 
quite  pretty,  and  so  was  her  companion. 
I  felt  sorry  that  so  young  and  pretty 
a  girl  would  make  a  spectacle  of  herself, 
so  I  strode  up  and  asked  if  I  could  be 
of  any  assistance.  The  fallen  one  glared 
at  me  and  the  one  standing  on  her  feet 
trying  to  help  her  companion  stared  at 
me.  My  American  accent  may  have 
been  too  much  for  her  for  she  made  no 
reply.  I  remained  standing  there, 
whereupon  the  sober  one  got  angry  and 
turned  on  me  with  the  remark:  "Did 
yer  never  see  ah  lassie  fou?" 

From  her  indignant  tones  and  man- 
ner I  saw  that  she  was  huffy,  so  I  made 
tracks  in  a  hurry,  for  I  wasn't  looking 
for  trouble. 

After  seeing  as  much  as  I  wanted  to 
of  Argyle  Street,  I  walked  toward  the 
embankment  of  the  Clyde  River,  which 
I  could  see  not  far  away,  and  had  a 


178 


look  at  the  shipping.  The  ships  were 
as  curious  to  me  as  everything  else  I  saw 
in  Glasgow,  for  they  were  distinctly  for- 
eign-looking and  odd.  Glasgow  seemed 
a  great  port,  for  there  were  ships  of  all 
nations  there.  The  banks  along  the 
water  front  were  high  and  walled  up 
with  stone,  forming  fine  promenades. 
Quite  a  number  of  very  fine  bridges 
spanned  the  stream  and  they  must  have 
cost  a  lot  of  money.  They  were  of  stone, 
iron  and  wood,  and  were  equal  to  struc- 
tures of  their  kind  anywhere.  I  no- 
ticed that  the  water  was  of  a  dark  choc- 
olate color,  which  means — mud.  The 
stream  isn't  very  broad,  but  it  is  deep. 
I  was  speaking  of  the  vessels!  Well, 
they  took  my  time.  I  had  read  of  low, 
black-hulled,  rakish  crafts  in  pirate 
stories  and  these  looked  like  them.  Won- 
der if  they  were  pirates?  I  didn't  go 
aboard  any  of  them  to  investigate. 

Along  the  water  front  street  opposite 
the  embankment  were  hotels,  stores, 
lodging-houses,  ship-outfitting  estab- 
lishments, taverns,  inns,  and  all  manner 
of  places  catering  to  seafaring  men.  All 
of  them  seemed  curiosity  shops  to  me. 


179 


My  little  pen  isn't  able  to  describe  them. 
What's  the  use  of  trying? 

I  came  upon  a  spot  called  for  short 
and  sweet  "The  Broomielaw,"  which 
was  a  section  of  the  water  front  given 
up  to  the  landing  of  "up-country" 
steamboats,  which  came  down  the  vari- 
ous lochs,  rivers,  bays,  "the  Minch," 
and  other  waters  of  northern  Scotland, 
and  it  was  more  than  interesting  to 
observe  the  little  steamers  when  they 
came  in.  They  were  laden  with  cattle 
and  people  from  the  Highlands  and  else- 
where, and  with  produce  and  merchan- 
dise. Many  of  the  people  were  dressed 
in  togs  that  I  never  saw  outside  of  a 
comic  opera  show  and  when  cattle  were 
unloaded  from  these  long,  narrow  pirat- 
ical-looking craft  I  had  more  fun  watch- 
ing them  than  I  ever  had  in  my  life 
before.  The  cattle  were  mostly  black 
like  the  ships,  and  a  whole  lot  of  tail- 
twisting  and  Scotch  language  had  to  be 
used  before  they  would  take  the  hint  and 
go  ashore.  They  didn't  like  the  looks 
of  things  and  bucked.  The  sights  of  the 
city  bewildered  them,  no  doubt,  for  they 
were  used  to  quieter  scenes.    The  cow- 


180 


boys  had  on  Tarn  O'Shanter  caps  and 
wore  not  describable  togs.  They 
punched  the  cattle,  twisted  their  tails 
and  shouted  words  that  the  cattle  may- 
be could  understand,  but  I  couldn't 
Highland  Scotch  was  too  high  for  my 
nut. 

Excursion  boats  came  to  the  Broomie- 
law  and  dumped  their  passengers  on  the 
landing  from  the  Harris,  Skye,  Storm- 
away,  Fladda,  the  Dutchman  and  all 
the  other  places  so  renowned  in  Scot- 
tish stories.  After  dumping  one  lot  of 
passengers  and  freight  they  took  an- 
other load  back  to  the  same  places.  Had 
I  had  the  price  I  would  have  gone  up 
country  sure,  for  there  are  a  whole  lot 
of  things  to  be  seen  up  that  way.  But 
by  this  time  it  was  nearing  noon  and  I 
was  getting  hungry,  so  I  concluded  that 
a  good,  square  meal  would  do  me  good. 
The  Broomielaw  and  the  other  places 
weren't  going  to  run  away,  and  I  would 
have  plenty  of  opportunities  of  seeing 
them. 


181 


CHAPTER  IX. 

GETTING  A  SQUARE  MEAL. 

I  drifted  along  Salt  Market  Street 
and  then  came  upon  a  street  which,  for 
want  of  a  better  name,  was  called  San- 
chiehall  Street,  in  the  neighborhood  of 
which  I  saw  a  restaurant  called  the 
"Workingman's  Restaurant,"  on  the 
side-wall  of  which  was  painted  in  large 
letters  the  following  bill  of  fare : 

Tea,  2  cents. 

Coffee,  2  cents. 

Porridge  and  milk,  2  cents. 

Sandwiches,  2  and  4  cents. 

Eggs,  2  cents. 

Ham  and  eggs,  16  cents. 

Broth,  2  cents. 

Pea  soup,  2  cents. 

Potato  soup,  2  cents. 

Beefsteak  pudding,  4  cents.   . 

Sausage,  2  cents. 

Collops,  4  and  6  cents. 

Dessert  puddings,  2  cents. 

Fish  suppers,  8  and  12  cents. 

Tripe  suppers,  8  and  12  cents. 


182 


The  bill  of  fare  and  the  prices  looked 
good  to  me  and  I  concluded  that  this 
would  be  my  dining  place. 

In  front  of  the  restaurant  were  two 
large  show  windows  in  one  of  which  was 
displayed  all  kinds  of  bakery  goods, 
such  as  large  flapjacks,  big  as  elephant 
ears,  labeled  "scones."  They  looked  like 
flapjacks  to  me,  but  were  bigger  and 
thicker,  and  could  be  had  for  two  cents 
each.  One  of  them  was  enough  for  a 
square  meal.  I  wanted  something  bet- 
ter than  that,  though,  just  then.  There 
were  big  biscuits  in  the  window,  too, 
cakes  of  various  kinds,  tarts,  etc.  In 
the  other  window  were  huge  joints  of 
beef  and  mutton,  meat  pies,  hog-meat  in 
various  shapes  and  styles,  and  other 
dainties.  My  teeth  began  to  water  as 
I  eyed  the  display  and  a  drop  trickled 
down  my  chin. 

"Lemme  see,  now;  what'll  I  tackle?" 
says  I  to  myself. 

Some  of  the  hog  meat  looked  good 
to  me  and  so  did  the  beef  and  mutton. 
I  was  willing  to  spend  two  bits  or  so  for 
a  good  square  meal.  While  I  stood  gaz- 
ing and  deliberating  a  young  girl  with 


183 


a  shawl  around  her  shoulders  came  up 
to  me  and  addressed  me : 

"Hoo  air  ye?"  asked  she. 

I  thought  she  had  made  a  mistake 
and  had  taken  me  for  someone  she  knew, 
so  I  asked  her  if  she  wasn't  mistaken 
in  the  person.  Either  she  did  not  under- 
stand pure  English  or  else  she  did  not 
want  to,  for  she  kept  up  the  conversa- 
tion. It  didn't  take  me  long  to  catch  on 
to  the  fact  that  she  was  bent  on  making 
a  mash.  She  didn't  know  me  from 
Adam,  nor  I  her.  She  was  light  haired 
and  pretty,  and  had  a  slight,  graceful 
figure,  which  was  not  well  hidden  by  a 
shawl,  which  she  kept  opening  and  clos- 
ing in  front  of  her.  I  concluded  that  I 
was  in  for  joy  the  first  thing.  To  tell 
the  real,  honest  truth,  I  wasn't  hanker- 
ing for  fun  just  then,  for  I  was  too 
hungry,  but  of  course  it  wouldn't  do  to 
be  discourteous  to  a  stranger,  and  a 
pretty  one  at  that.  To  her  inquiry  how 
I  was,  I  told  her  "Tiptop,"  which  she 
didn't  seem  to  understand.  She  did 
catch  on  to  it,  though,  that  I  was  a 
stranger. 

"Where'd  ye  come  from,  the   noo?" 


184 


"The  noo,  the  noo,"  thinks  I.  "What 
does  she  mean  by  that?"  I  caught  on 
suddenly.  "Oh,  I  just  landed  this  morn- 
ing from  New  York. 

"Ho,  yer  a  Yankee,  then?"  says  she. 

"No,  I'm  not,"  answered  I.  "I'm  a 
Westerner." 

"Ooh  eye,  ooh  eye,"  repeated  she 
twice,  as  if  she  didn't  understand. 

"What  air  ye  going  to  do  in  Glesgie?" 
asked  she  in  clear,  bell-like  accents.  She 
came  up  pretty  close  to  me  and  now  I 
could  detect  from  her  breath  that  she 
had  been  indulging  in  Scotch  bug-juice. 
This  displeased  me.  I  gave  her  a  hint 
that  I  had  had  no  dinner  and  that  I  was 
pretty  hungry,  but  it  was  evident  that 
something  stronger  than  a  hint  would 
be  needed  to  cut  me  loose  from  her.  She 
began  to  coax  and  then  suddenly  she 
called  me  a  bully.  That  got  me  off.  I 
told  her  in  pretty  plain  language  that 
she  was  a  trifle  fresh  and  that  I  hadn't 
said  or  done  anything  to  warrant  her 
in  calling  me  names.  She  didn't  under- 
stand what  I  said,  but  I  guess  she  could 
tell  from  my  manner  that  I  was  angry, 
so  her  soft  eyes   gazed   down   to   the 


185 


ground  sadly.  I  excused  myself,  left 
her  and  went  into  the  restaurant.  The 
unexpected  interview  had  agitated  me 
somewhat,  but  I  soon  got  over  it. 

The  front  part  of  the  restaurant  was 
a  sort  of  store,  where  .edibles  were  dis- 
played on  counters  and  which  could  be 
bought  and  carried  away,  or  eaten  on 
the  premises,  as  one  chose.  The  rest  of 
the  apartment  was  divided  off  into  cab- 
inets having  sliding  doors  to  them.  In 
each  cabinet  was  a  rough  wooden  table 
with  backless,  wooden  benches,  close  up 
to  it,  and  on  either  side  of  it.  The  cabi- 
net wasn't  big  enough  to  turn  around 
in,  but  it  served  the  purpose  for  which 
it  was  built. 

A  young  waitress  came  to  the  cabinet 
I  had  chosen  as  my  retreat  and  asked 
me  what  I  would  have.  When  she  heard 
my  foreign  accent  it  was  all  she  could 
do  to  keep  from  sniggering.  I  asked  for 
pea  soup  for  the  first  course.  It  was 
brought  to  me  and  it  was  nice.  While 
eating  it,  the  door  slid  back  quietly,  and 
who  do  you  think  entered  it?  Guess!  Til 
bet  you  never  could  guess.  Why,  it  was 
no  one  else  than  the  young  girl  who  had 


186 


addressed  me  outside  the  restaurant. 
She  had  probably  watched  from  the  out- 
side and  seen  in  which  cabinet  I  had 
gone  and  there  she  was,  large  as  life. 
Tell  me  Scotch  girls  aren't  cute.  For  a 
moment  I  was  so  flabbergasted  you 
could  have  knocked  me  down  with  a 
feather,  but  I  soon  recovered  my 
equanimity. 

The  girl  asked  me  if  she  might  sit 
down  beside  me.  What  could  I  say?  Of 
course,  I  said  yes.  I  kept  on  eating  my 
soup  and  cogitated.  If  this  was  the  cus- 
tom of  the  country  I  didn't  like  it. 
Where  I  came  from  strangers  were  not 
in  the  habit  of  inviting  themselves  to 
dinner.  The  lassie  (that's  what  girls 
are  called  in  Scotland)  chinned  away  to 
me,  but  I  didn't  understand  her,  nor  did 
I  care  to  very  much  just  then.  After 
the  pea  soup  had  disappeared  I  asked 
the  lassie  if  she  was  hungry  and  she 
gave  me  to  understand  that  she  was  not. 
Probably  she  had  only  come  in  for  a 
social  chat. 

The  waitress  soon  came  in  again  and 
sniffed  scornfully  when  she  saw  my 
companion  there.  She  probably  took  me 


187 


for  a  naughty  man.  All  this  goes  to 
show  how  a  poor,  innocent  fellow  can 
get  into  trouble  when  he  isn't  looking 
for  it. 

I  next  ordered  some  roast  mutton, 
potatoes  and  bread  and  butter.  To  the 
waitress's  inquiry  what  I  would  drink  I 
said  "Water."  The  lassie  looked  at  me 
reproachfully.  I  divined  that  -she 
wouldn't  have  ordered  water.  While  I 
ate  the  lassie  chinned  and  seemed  to 
stick  to  me  as  faithfully  as  a  Dutch 
uncle  to  a  rich  relative.  I  don't  think 
that  she  was  fully  aware  of  what  she 
was  doing  or  saying. 

After  I  had  finished  the  second 
course,  the  waitress  made  her  appear- 
ance again  and  wanted  to  know  what 
further  would  be  wanted.  I  told  her, 
nothing,  whereupon  she  began  to  gather 
up  the  dishes  and  her  manner  pro- 
claimed that  the  cabinet  might  be  want- 
ed for  the  next  customer.  I  took  the 
hint  and  withdrew  and-  the  lassie  fol- 
lowed me  out.  Outside  of  the  restaurant 
the  lassie  gave  me  a  gentle  hint  that  she 
knew  of  a  snug  place  where  we  could 
have  "a  little  smile"  together,    but    I 


188 


wasn't  drinking  just  then  and  told  her 
so.  I  was  leery  of  her,  in  fact.  How  did 
I  know  who  she  was  or  what  her  little 
game  was.  I  didn't  know  the  language 
of  the  country,  the  laws,  the  customs 
or  anything,  so  I  proposed  to  proceed 
carefully.  I  shook  the  lassie  firmly  but 
politely  as  soon  as  I  could  and  went  my 
way. 


CHAPTER  X. 

GLASGOW  GREEN  (or  Common.) 

I  concluded  to  go  down  toward  the 
Clyde  again  but  had  some  difficulty  find- 
ing my  way,  for  the  streets  were  tortu- 
ous and  winding,  though  quaint  and  old- 
fashioned.  I  had  seen  pictures  of  such 
streets  on  the  stage  and  in  plays.  After 
much  walking  I  came  upon  a  thorough- 
fare called  Stockwell  Street  which  led 
direct  to  the  quays.  I  walked  to  the 
Albert  Bridge  and  contemplated  its 
strength  and  solidity,  and  then  walked 
in  the  direction  of  a  park  which  I  saw 
not  far  distant.     I  was  informed  by 


189 


someone  whom  I  asked  that  this  was 
the  Glasgow  Common,  or  Green.  The 
park,  I  should  judge,  is  about  two  miles 
long  by  about  half  a  mile  wide,  and  is 
almost  destitute  of  trees  or  plants.  It 
is,  in  fact,  nothing  more  than  a  bare 
public  playground  fitted  up  with  tennis 
courts,  cricket  grounds,  apparatus  for 
gymnastic  exercises,  swings,  a  music- 
stand,  etc.  It  surely  is  an  interesting 
spot.  The  walks  are  long  and  numer- 
ous, resting-places  are  plentiful  and 
near  the  river  is  a  building  used  by  the 
Humane  Society — a  hospital,  most  like- 
ly. A  little  way  in  from  the  entrance 
is  a  fountain  that  is  worth  describing. 
The  "Glesgie"  people  seem  to  have  a 
grudge  against  it  for  some  reason  or 
other,  but  it  is  a  nice  and  elaborate 
work  of  art  for  all  that.  It  is  a  large 
structure  with  a  broad  basin  and  many 
other  basins  that  diminish  in  diameter 
as  they  near  the  top.  The  top  basin  is 
quite  small.  Around  the  largest  basin 
are  groups  of  life-sized  figures  repre- 
senting the  various  races  of  man,  such 
as  Africans,  Asiatics,  Europeans,  Aus- 
tralians and  Americans.     The  figures 


190 


are  exceedingly  well  done.  On  the  top- 
most pinnacle  of  the  fountain  is  a  heroic 
image  of  Lord  Nelson,  the  great  English 
Admiral.  I  thought  the  whole  work  was 
a  most  elaborate  and  fine  one. 

Being  tired,  I  sat  down  on  a  bench  to 
rest.  There  were  not  very  many  people 
in  the  park  just  then  and  I  had  a  good 
view  of  everything. 

Clear  over  on  the  other  side  of  the 
park  there  wasn't  a  single  person  to  be 
seen  except  a  couple  that  sat  on  a  bench 
making  love  in  strenuous  fashion.  It 
was  a  workingman  and  a  lassie.  Did 
you  ever  watch  a  calf  when  it  sucks  its 
mother,  how  it  makes  a  grab  for  a  teat, 
rest  awhile,  then  make  another  grab? 
That  is  the  way  that  man  made  love. 
Suddenly  he  would  throw  his  arm 
around  the  girl's  waist,  press  her  to  him, 
then  let  go  and  take  a  breathing  spell. 
The  lassie  sat  quiet  taking  it  all  in  and 
saying  never  a  word.  In  a  few  minutes 
the  man  would  make  another  grab,  take 
a  fresh  hold  and  then  let  go  again.  It 
was  a  queer  way  of  making  love,  I 
thought.  The  couple  wasn't  bashful  a 
bit  and  evidently  didn't  care  who  saw 


191 


them.  I  thought  to  myself  that  I  wouk 
have  to  find  some  lassie  to  give  me  a  f  ew 
lessons  in  the  art  of  making  love  in 
Scotch  fashion,  for  I  wasn't  on  to  the 
game  at  all. 

After  a  good  long  rest  I  strolled 
through  the  city  to  see  some  more  of  it. 
It  was  quiet  in  the  park  just  then  and 
nothing  doing. 

I  came  upon  the  old  Glasgow  Cathe- 
dral which  is  by  far  the  oldest  structure 
in  the  city  and  the  most  thought  of  by 
Glasgowites,  but  I  was  not  much  im- 
pressed by  it.  It  is  a  thousand  years 
old  or  more,  is  great  in  extent,  is  sur- 
rounded by  ample  grounds  and  is  made 
of  stone.  It  contains  flying  buttresses 
and  some  other  gim-crackery  but  the 
whole  thing  is  rather  plain,  black  and 
dull.  Sir  Walter  Scott  in  one  of  his 
novels  describes  it  faithfully,  and  if  any 
one  wants  to  know  more  about  it  I 
politely  request  them  to  look  up  Sir  Wal- 
ter Scott.  I  ain't  equal  to  the  task  of 
describing  architecture  in  detail  and 
such  things. 

Not  far  from  the  Cathedral  is  the 
Necropolis,    a    very    ancient     burial 


192 


ground  right  in  the  heart  of  the  city, 
almost.  It  is  as  ancient  as  the  Cathe- 
dral; maybe.  It  is  a  pretty  spot  and  I 
went  all  through  it.  It  is  built  around 
a  hillside  and  is  of  considerable  extent. 
Along  the  street  level  are  walks  bor- 
dered by  trees,  shrubs  and  flowers,  and 
as  you  ascend  the  hillside  you  will  see 
elaborate  tombs,  monuments,  shady 
nooks  and  bosky  bowers.  On  the  high- 
est portion  of  the  rather  steep  and  lofty 
hill  a  fine  view  of  Glasgow  may  be  had, 
and  here  lies  buried,  beneath  a  fine  mon- 
ument, John  Knox,  the  Reformer.  The 
Scotch  think  a  heap  about  Mr.  Knox, 
but  as  I  don't  know  much  about  him  I 
can't  say  much.  He  must  have  been  a 
wonderful  man  and  he  surely  lies  buried 
in  a  grand  spot.  As  a  rule  I  don't  like 
to  wander  about  in  bone-yards,  but  as 
this  one  was  so  pretty  I  was  impelled 
to  do  so. 

Let  me  say  a  few  words  about  Glas- 
gow in  a  general  way  before  I  continue 
my  story. 

Glasgow  is  the  commercial  metropo- 
lis of  Scotland.  It  contains  about  800,- 
000  people,  and  in  most  respects  is  a 


193 


modern  city.  It  is  the  center  of  art, 
finance  and  trade,  and  what  New  York 
is  to  the  United  States,  Glasgow  is  to 
Scotland.  There  is  much  wealth,  style 
and  fashion  there,  the  people  are  work- 
ers and  full  of  business.  Wholesale  and 
retail  establishments  abound,  ship- 
building yards  are  numerous,  as  are 
foundries  and  manufacturing  shops  of 
many  kinds.  Chief  of  all  the  great  in- 
dustries in  Glasgow  is  the  ship-building. 
The  business  of  the  port  of  Glasgow  is 
great  and  the  volume  of  the  shipping 
immense.  These  few  pointers  will  re- 
veal to  you  that  Glasgow  is  not  a  jay 
town  by  any  means. 


CHAPTER  XL 

HUNTING  FOR  A  FURNISHED 
ROOM. 

As  I  said  before,  when  I  landed  in 
Glasgow  I  had  only  a  few  dollars  in  my 
possession,  therefore  I  deemed  it  wise  to 
make  them  go  as  far  as  possible,  for  I 
didn't  know  what  I  was  up  against  or 


194 


how  I  would  get  along.  The  country 
was  strange  and  new  to  me,  I  didn't 
know  a  soul  this  side  the  water,  I  knew 
nothing  of  the  ways  of  the  country  or  the 
people,  and  hadn't  the  faintest  idea  as 
yet  how  I  was  going  to  get  through  the 
country.  That  I  could  not  beat  my  way 
I  had  already  learned,  and  as  I  am  not 
very  partial  to  hiking  it  over  long  dis- 
tances, I  cogitated.  But  what  was  the 
use  of  thinking  or  worrying?  Didn't  I 
have  some  money  in  my  inside  pocket? 
Of  course  I  had,  and  it  was  time  enough 
to  worry  when  I  was  broke.  "Sufficient 
unto  the  day  is  the  evil  thereof,"  has 
always  been  my  motto,  and  I  had  been 
on  the  turf  long  enough  to  know  that 
there  is  always  some  way  out  of  a  scrape 
when  one  gets  into  it. 

What  was  the  next  event  on  the  pro- 
gram? I  had  dined  and  seen  consid- 
erable of  the  city  and  it  was  "more  bet- 
ter" that  I  go  and  look  up  a  furnished 
room.  I  had  to  have  some  place  to  sleep 
and  the  cheapest  and  most  comfortable 
way,  I  thought,  was  to  rent  a  room  in  a 
private  family.  I  have  slept  in  lodging 
houses  time  without  number  but  they 


195 


are  too  public  and  sometimes  too  noisy. 
For  a  good,  honest  sleep  give  me  a  pri- 
vate dwelling.  I  knew  that  I  was  look- 
ing shabby  but  good  clean  money  looks 
good  to  a  whole  lot  of  people. 

I  wandered  through  Buchanan  and 
Argyle  Streets,  the  Trougate  and  Gal- 
lowgate  Street,  but  couldn't  find  a  "To 
Let"  sign  anywhere.  This  kind  of 
stumped  me.  I  asked  some  one  if  there 
were  no  furnished  rooms  to  let  in  Glas- 
gow and  he  informed  me  that  there  were 
lots  of  them  but  that  I  would  have  to 
look  in  the  upper  stories  of  the  houses 
for  the  signs.  I  did  so  but  saw  very 
few  of  them.  I  tackled  the  first  place 
where  I  saw  one.  It  was  in  a  three-story 
building  along  the  Trougate  and  the 
structure  didn't  look  good  to  me.  There 
was  a  narrow,  stone-paved  hallway 
leading  through  the  building  and  at  the 
rear  of  it  was  a  cork-screw-like  stair- 
way that  wound  upward.  The  hallway 
was  as  dim  and  dark  as  a  dungeon  and 
made  me  feel  funny.  But  I  was  there 
for  a  purpose  so  there  was  no  use  get- 
ting scared  of  bugaboos.  Up, the  stair- 
way I  went,  slowly  and  cautiously,  keep- 


196 


ing  my  eyes  peeled  for  obstructions.  I 
came  to  the  first  landing,  where  there 
was  a  single  strongly  made  wooden 
door.  I  saw  a  knocker  on  the  door  and 
rapped  at  it  rather  faintly  for  admit- 
tance. An  elderly  woman  came  to  the 
door  and  demanded  to  know  what  1 
wanted.  I  told  her  I  was  looking  for  a 
furnished  room.  From  my  accent  she 
gathered  that  I  was  a  foreigner  for  she 
asked  at  once: 

"Yer  a  furriner,  ain't  ye?" 

I  can't  describe  the  Scotch  accent  just 
right  for  it  ain't  my  language,  but  I  will 
try  to  set  down  what  the  lady  said  to 
me  as  well  as  I  can. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  I;  "I  arrived 
from  New  York  today." 

"Yer  a  Yankee,  I  believe." 

"No,  ma'am,"  responded  I,  "I'm  a 
•Westerner." 

This  evidently  puzzled  the  lady  for 
she  murmured  "Ooh  eye!  ooh  eye!"  in 
the  same  tone  somewhat  as  the  boozy 
lassie  at  the  Workingman's  Restaurant 
had  done. 

"What,  will  ye  be  doin'  in  Glasgie?" 
asked  the  lady. 


197 


I  was  stumped  for  a  moment.  I  as- 
sured her  I  was  going  to  look  for  a  job. 

"What's  yer  trade?" 

"Oh,  I  work  at  anything,"  I  an- 
swered. 

"Ah,  then  yer  jack  of  all  trades  and 
maister  of  none." 

I  assured  the  lady  that  was  about  the 
size  of  it  and  she  then  asked  me  how 
much  I  wanted  to  pay  for  a  room.  I 
told  her  about  a  dollar  a  week.  As 
things  were  cheaper  on  this  side  of  the 
water  than  on  the  other  side,  I  figured  it 
out  that  I  ought  to  get  things  at  about 
half  price.  Evidently  the  lady  didn't 
think  so,  for  she  scanned  me  scornfully 
and  wanted  to  know  if  I  took  her  place 
for  a  tramp's  lodging  house.  That  was 
putting  it  rather  plain  which  caused  me 
to  kind  of  wilt.  I  assured  the  landlady 
I  had  no  such  idea.  I  asked  her  what 
she  charged  for  a  room  and  she  said  two 
dollars  and  a  half  per  week.  Too  much 
for  yours  truly,  I  thought,  and  told  her 
so.  We  couldn't  make  a  deal  so  I  groped 
my  way  down  stairs  and  tried  my  luck 
elsewhere.  Rents  probably  were  high  in 
that  part  of  the  city  so  I  crossed  the 


198 


Clyde  and  wandered  into  the  Gorbals 
district.  This  is  a  section  of  the  city 
inhabited  by  the  poorer  classes  of  work- 
ing people  and  I  had  my  eye  on  it  while 
wandering  along  the  Broomielaw.  I  saw 
warehouses  along  the  waterfront  over 
there  and  stone-paved  streets  full  of 
houses.  The  houses  were  ancient-look- 
ing and  grimy  but  I  would  probably 
find  what  I  sought  there. 

The  first  house  I  entered  in  that  dis- 
trict had  the  same  kind  of  a  hallway 
with  a  spiral  stairway  at  the  end  of  it 
as  the  house  I  had  been  in  on  the  other 
side  of  the  river,  and  when  I  rapped  at 
the  door  on  the  first  floor  a  lady  an- 
swered the  summons.  When  I  told  her 
that  I  wanted  a  furnished  room  she 
wanted  to  know  how  much  I  was  willing 
to  pay.  She  did  not  tell  me  her  price 
but  wanted  to  size  up  my  pile.  Her  little 
racket  wouldn't  work.  I  told  her  that  if 
she  had  a  room  that  suited  me  and  if 
the  price  was  right  we  could  make  a 
deal,  otherwise  not.  Whereupon  she 
opened  her  hall  door,  let  me  in  and  led 
me  to  a  fair-sized  room  and  asked  me 
how  I  liked  it.    It  contained  a  table,  sofa 


199 


and  two  chairs,  but  nothing  else.  I  told 
her  I  wanted  a  bed-room,  not  a  sitting- 
room. 

"This  is  a  bed-room/'  said  she,  open- 
ing a  closet  in  the  room  in  which  was 
a  bunk. 

Holy  Jerusalem !  What  did  the  lady 
take  me  for ;  a  Chinaman,  to  put  me  in 
a  china  closet?  Nay,  nay,  Pauline! 
I'm  no  Chinaman.  Here  was  another 
case  where  the  deal  fell  through.  I  like 
plenty  of  fresh  air  and  light  where  I 
sleep  when  I  can  get  it,  and  enough 
room  to  kick  in.  Here  there  was  none 
of  these  things. 

I  kept  a-moving.  I  came  to  a  house 
opposite  a  theater  where  I  met  two 
young  ladies  who  occupied  a  flat  and 
had  a  spare  room.  I  believe  they  were 
actresses.  They  told  me  that  their  va- 
cant room  was  rented  by  an  actor  who 
was  now  making  a  tour  of  the  cities  and 
that  they  didn't  know  just  when  he 
would  be  home.  In  the  meanwhile  I 
could  occupy  his  room  if  I  wished  and 
when  the  actor  returned  I  could  share 
the  room  with  him.  I  did  not  feel  as 
if  I  would  like  to  sleep  with  an  actor,  for 


200 


he  might  have  been  a  snorer  or  a  high 
kicker,  and  I  didn't  know  when  he 
would  be  back  anyway.  That  sort  of 
an  arrangement  did  not  suit  me.  No 
deal  was  made  here,  either. 

The  next  place  I  went  to  and  where 
I  finally  located,  was  a  flat  occupied  by 
an  old  man  and  his  daughter.  The  father 
was  over  seventy  years  of  age  and  the 
daughter  about  thirty.  They  rented  me 
a  neat  room  for  one  dollar  a  week  which 
contained  an  ample  bed,  chairs,  rocker, 
a  wash-stand,  soap,  towel,  a  window, 
lace  curtains  and  a  shade.  My  patience 
and  perseverance  had  been  rewarded  at 
last.  As  soon  as  my  landlady  left  me 
I  stripped  and  took  a  wash  from  head 
to  foot,  the  first  good  clean-up  I  had 
since  I  left  New  York.  It  was  great.  I 
rented  the  room  for  a  week  and  con- 
cluded to  hike  out  of  town  when  the 
week  was  up.  During  the  week  that  I 
remained  in  this  house  I  became  quite 
well  acquainted  with  the  old  man  and 
his  daughter  and  learned  that  he  was 
from  the  north  of  Ireland  and  that  his 
wife  who  was  dead  had  been  Scotch. 
The  daughter,  therefore,  was  half-and- 


201 


half.  She  was  an  amiable,  good-tem- 
pered young  woman,  though  far  from 
pretty,  and  the  devotion  she  showed  to 
her  father  astonished  me.  He  wasn't  in 
the  best  of  health  and  often  was  crabbed 
and  cross,  but  no  matter  how  crusty  he 
was  the  daughter  petted  and  humored 
him,  and  crowed  and  goo-ed  and  gaa-ed 
to  him  and  never  got  out  of  patience. 
She  treated  him  as  a  mother  does  her 
child  and  never  wearied  of  soothing 
him.  The  old  man  didn't  seem  to  ap- 
preciate these  attentions  for  his  daugh- 
ter got  no  thanks  from  him  and  not 
even  a  kind  word.  One  day  when  the 
daughter  had  gone  out  on  an  errand  the 
father  suspected  that  she  was  in  my 
room,  so  he  rushed  into  my  room,  looked 
under  the  bed  and  into  the  corners  to 
see  if  she  were  there.  The  old  man  had 
not  the  slightest  reason  or  cause  to  sus- 
pect his  daughter  and  I  watched  his 
maneuvers  with  anger  but  said  nothing. 
He  deserved  a  good  tongue-lashing  and 
I  felt  like  giving  it  to  him  but  his  great 
age  held  me  back.  Had  he  been  a 
younger  man  I  would  have  told  him 
what  I  thought  of  him  in  short  order. 


202 

CHAPTER  XII. 
DANCING  IN  THE  GREEN. 

I  slept  well  that  night,  better  than  I 
had  slept  since  I  left  New  York,  for 
there  was  nothing  to  disturb  me.  A 
good  rub  down  and  a  good  night's  rest 
had  done  me  a  world  of  good.  Those 
who  have  traveled  know  what  my  feel- 
ings were.  After  a  cheap  breakfast  in 
a  Municipal  Restaurant,  where  I  had 
two  big,  thick  slices  of  bread  with  ex- 
cellent butter  and  a  cup  of  good  coffee 
for  two  cents,  I  bummed  around  the 
Clyde  again,  taking  in  the  sights.  I 
liked  Glasgow  first  rate.  The  people 
were  as  friendly  and  sociable  as  they 
were  out  West,  and  their  accent  and 
ways  were  a  never-ending  source  of  in- 
terest to  me.  Everything  that  I  saw  in- 
terested me,  for  it  was  all  so  new  and 
strange.  No  one  can  have  .the  faintest 
idea  what  there  is  to  be  seen  abroad  un- 
less he  or  she  goes  there  and  hears  and 
sees  for  himself.  Word-pictures  are  in- 
adequate to  give  one  a  proper  idea,  for 
there  is  something  even  in  a  foreign  at- 


203 


mosphere  that  must  be  felt  before  it  can 
be  appreciated. 

I  bought  a  morning  paper  and  sat 
down  on  a  bench  along  the  embankment 
to  read  it.  It  was  interesting  from 
start  to  finish  with  nothing  "yellow" 
about  it.  The  articles  were  written  in 
an  able,  scholarly  way,  and  besides  giv- 
ing the  news  there  were  columns  devot- 
ed to  giving  useful  hints,  such  as  "Mas- 
ter and  Man/'  "Husbands  and  Wives/' 
and  such  like  things,  that  were  well  to 
know.  They  were  in  the  shape  of  "An- 
swers and  Queries/'  somewhat.  Even 
the  advertisements  were  interesting  to 
me  but  "The  Want"  ads  were  mostly 
incomprehensible,  for  there  were  too 
many  Scotch  colloquialisms  in  them.  I 
saw  an  announcement  in  the  paper  stat- 
ing that  there  would  be  dancing  in  the 
Green  that  afternoon,  and  I  concluded 
instantly  that  I  would  take  it  in.  It  was 
to  be  a  free  show  and  when  there  is  any- 
thing of  that  sort  going  on  you  may 
count  me  in,  every  time. 

In  the  meanwhile  I  just  loafed  around 
the  banks  of  the  Clyde,  watching  them 
load  and  unload  vessels,  taking  in  the 


204 


foreigners'  ways  of  doing  things,  peer- 
ing into  the  shop-windows  along  the 
water-front,  etc.  The  time  passed  quick- 
ly enough.  I  wasn't  homesick  a -bit  but 
felt  right  at  home.  There  was  some- 
thing about  the  people  and  the  place 
that  made  me  feel  quite  at  home. 

After  dinner,  at  about  two  o'clock,  I 
strolled  into  the  Green.  People  were 
slowly  sauntering  into  it  in  groups,  and 
walking  up  toward  the  music  stand 
where  the  dancing  was  to  be  done.  The 
music  stand  was  about  half  a  mile  from 
the  park  entrance.  It  was  early,  so  I 
sat  down  on  a  bench  and  made  myself 
comfortable.  Little  boys  came  along 
handing  out  programs  and  I  secured 
one  of  them.    Here  is  what  it  said : 

Glasgow  Green. 

No.  1 — March ;  Glendaurel  Highland- 
ers. 

No.  2 — Strathspey ;  Marquis  of  Hunt- 
ley. 

No.  3— Reel;  The  Auld  Wife  Ayont 
the  Fire. 

No.  4 — March ;  Brian  Boru. 

No.  5 — Strathspey ;  Sandy  King. 


205 


No.  6 — Reel;  Abercairney  High- 
landers. 

No:  7 — Dance;  Reel  o'  Tullock. 

No.  8— Waltz;  The  Pride  of  Scotland. 

No.  9 — Highland  Fling. 

No.  10 — March;  Loch  Katrine  High- 
landers. 

No.  11 — Strathspey;  When  You  Go 
to  the  Hill. 

No.  12 — Reel;  Over  the  Isles  to 
America. 

No.  13 — Dance;  Sword  Dance. 

No.  14— March;  93d's  Farewell  to 
Edinburgh. 

No.  15 — Strathspey;  Kessock  Ferry. 

No.  16— Reel;  Mrs.  McLeod's. 

No.  17 — Slow  March;  Lord  Leven. 

Choir. 

No.  1 — Glee;  Hail,  Smiling  Morn. 

No.  2— Part  Song;  Rhine  Raft  Song. 

No.  3 — Part  Song ;  Maggie  Lauder. 

No.  4— Part  Song;  Let  the  Hills  Re- 
sound. 

No.  5 — Scottish  Medley,  introducing 
favorite  airs. 

No.  6— We'll  Hae  Nane  But  Hielan 
Bonnets  Here. 


206 


No.  7— Part  Song;  Hail  to  the  Chief. 

No.  8— Part  Song;  The  Auld  Man. 

No.  9 — Part  Song ;  Awake  Aeolian 
Lyre. 

No.  10 — Part  Song;  Night,  Lovely 
Night. 

No.  11 — God  Save  the  King. 

The  program  was  a  good  long  one 
and  sure  looked  good  to  me.  I  imagined 
there  would  be  something  doing. 

At  about  half  past  two  there  was  a 
big  crowd  congregated  about  the  music 
stand  but  as  there  were  few  seats  near 
it  most  of  the  people  had  to  stand. 

As  I  wanted  to  see  all  I  could  I  min- 
gled with  the  throng  and  patiently  wait- 
ed for  the  performance  to  begin.  The 
band  hadn't  made  its  appearance  yet 
and  there  was  no  one  on  the  band  stand. 
To  relieve  the  tedium  some  of  the  young 
fellows  who  were  in  the  crowd  began 
to  chaff  some  of  the  lassies  in  a  flirty 
way.  Three  pretty  girls  in  a  group 
were  the  especial  tareet  of  the  laddies. 
If  I  could  only  get  oif  the  Scotch  right 
I  would  jot  down  some  of  their  badinage 
for  it  was  very  amusing,  to  me,  at  least, 
but  I  couldn't  do  the  theme  justice. 


207 


After  what  to  me  seemed  an  inter- 
minable long  wait  we  heard  some  yell- 
ing and  snarling  away  down  toward  the 
entrance  of  the  park  I  took  to  be  dog- 
fighting.  Too  bad  it  was  so  far  away, 
for  anything  would  have  been  agreeable 
just  then  to  relieve  the  monotony,  even 
a  dog-fight.  I  noticed  the  people  near 
the  entrance  scattering  to  either  side  of 
the  walk  and  forming  a  lane  through 
which  to  give  the  dogs  a  show.  The 
yelping  and  snarling  came  nearer  and 
finally  I  perceived  that  it  was  a  band 
of  men  approaching  dressed  in  High- 
land costume  and  playing  the  bagpipes. 
I  had  heard  the  bagpipes  played  many 
a  time  and  knew  what  they  were  but 
I  had  never  heard  a  whole  lot  of  them 
played  at  once.  I  now  knew  that  it 
wasn't  a  dog-fight  that  had  caused  the 
noise.  The  bag-pipers  came  along 
quickly  with  long  strides,  their  heads 
erect,  stern  of  visage  with  petticoats 
flying  from  side  to  side  like  those  of  a 
canteen-girl  when  she  marches  with  her 
regiment.  The  men  were  husky  fel- 
lows, broad-shouldered,  lithe  and  ac- 
tive, but  they  wore    no    pants.     Th<* 


208 


whole  lot  of  them  were  bare-legged 
and  upon  their  heads  was  perched  a 
little  plaid  cap  with  a  feather  in  it, 
and  over  their  shoulders  was  thrown 
a  plaid  shawl.  Stockings  came  up 
to  their  knees,  but  their  legs  a 
little  way  further  up  beyond  the 
stockings  were  entirely  bare.  Al- 
though there  were  lots  of  the  girls  pres- 
ent I  didn't  notice  any  of  them  blush 
at  this  exposure  of  the  person.  Maybe 
they  were  used  to  such  spectacles. 
What  tune  do  you  think  these  High- 
landers were  playing  as  they  marched 
along?  Nothing  more  nor  less  than — 
" Where,  oh  where  has  my  little  dog 

gone, 
Where,  oh  where  can  he  be? 
With  his  hair  cut  short  and  his  tail  cut 
long, 
Where,  oh  where  can  he  be?" 
This  was  a  mighty  nice  little  tune 
and  I  had  heard  it  before,  but  I  had 
never  heard  it  played  by  such  instru- 
ments.. The  people  liked  the  tune  and 
seemed  to  like  the  Highlanders  too,  for 
when  they  went  by,  the  people  closed  in 
after  them  in  a  solid  body,  and  marched 


209 


behind  them,  a  pushing,  elbowing, 
struggling  mass. 

When  the  music  stand  was  reached 
the  band  did  not  go  upon  it  but  marched 
around  it  playing  that  same  little  old 
tune.  I  wondered  why  they  didn't 
change  it  and  play  something  else  but 
as  the  crowd  didn't  kick  there  was  no 
use  of  me  kicking.  They  kept  a  march- 
ing and  a  marching  around  the  stand 
for  quite  a  little  while  but  the  tune 
never  changed.  The  musicians  took  a 
good  fresh  hold  on  the  air  every  min- 
ute or  two,  some  note  rising  a  little 
shriller  than  the  others  but  that  is  all 
the  variation  there  was.  Do  you  want 
to  know  the  honest  truth?  Well  I 
wasn't  stuck  on  the  tune  or  the  bag- 
pipes either.  The  noise  they  made 
would  have  made  a  dog  howl.  It  was 
nothing  but  a  shrieking,  yelling,  and 
squeaking.  Call  that  music?  From 
the  pleased  faces  of  the  people  you 
would  have  judged  it  was  fine. 

After  what  seemed  a  coon's  age  the 
band  quit  playing  and  marching,  and 
mounted    the    platform,    upon    which 


210 


they  had  been  preceded  by  a  lot  of  boys 
and  girls  who  formed  the  choir. 

Number  one  on  the  program  was 
a  march,  the  Glendaurel  Highlanders. 
I  couldn't  see  anything  in  it  except  more 
marching  to  a  different  tune.  The 
crowd  seemed  to  like  it  and  applauded 
frantically.  There  was  a  whole  lot  of 
pushing  and  shoving  by  the  crowd  in 
my  neighborhood  and  I  wasn't  com- 
fortable at  all.  A  sturdy  dame  behind 
me  made  herself  especially  obnoxious 
by  wanting  to  get  right  up  front  and 
she  didn't  seem  to  care  how  she  got 
there  or  who  she  shoved  out  of  the  way 
to  accomplish  her  purpose. 

She  dug  her  elbow  into  my  side  in  no 
gentle  fashion,  and  was  bent  on  getting 
in  front  of  me,  whether  I  was  agree- 
able or  not.  Well,  she  didn't  make 
the  riffle.  I  planted  my  elbow  in  her 
rib  to  see  how  she  liked  it.  She  scut- 
tled away  from  me  then  quickly 
enough. 

Number  two  on  the  program  was 
Marquis  of  Huntley.  I  didn't  know  who 
the  Marquis  of  Huntley  was  but  evi- 
dently the  crowd  did  for  they  went  wild 


211 


over  the  tune  and  dancing.  The  danc- 
ing was  fine,  tip-top,  but  I  can't  say  as 
much  for  the  tune.  The  way  them 
Highlanders  could  dance  was  a  caution, 
for  they  were  graceful  and  supple  as 
eels.     No  flies  on  them. 

Number  three  was  a  corker,  a  reel 
called  "The  Auld  Wife  Ayont  the 
Fire."  There  was  something  doing  this 
time.  The  Highlanders  turned  them- 
selves loose  and  they  hopped,  skipped, 
jumped  and  yelled  like  a  tribe  of  Sioux 
Indians  on  the  war  path.  How  they 
did  carry  on  and  how  the  crowd 
whooped  it  up  in  sympathy !  The  whole 
push  was  frantic,  Highlanders  and  all. 
My  hair  riz  but  I  don't  know  why.  If 
any  one  tells  me  that  those  bare-legged 
Highlanders  can't  dance  I  will  surely 
tell  them  they  are  mistaken.  They  were 
artists  and  no  mistake,  every  one  of 
them. 

Brian  Boru  was  the  next  event  on 
the  program,  a  march.  I  was  getting 
tired  of  marches  but  the  mob  wasn't. 
They  applauded  the  Brian  Boru  wildly 
and  saw  a  whole  lot  in  it  that  I  couldn't 
see. 


212 


Number  five  was  another  strathspey, 
Sandy  King.  I  was  wondering  who 
Sandy  was  and  if  he  were  a  king,  but  I 
didn't  like  to  ask  questions.  No  use  let- 
ting the  "hoi-polloi"  get  on  to  it  that  I 
was  a  greenhorn.  There  might  have 
been  something  doing  had  they  known 
it,  for  it  takes  but  a  little  thing  to  set  a 
mob  a-going. 

Next  came  a  reel,  Abercairney  High- 
landers. I  wondered  how  many  differ- 
ent clans  of  Highlanders  there  were  in 
Scotland.  The  woods  seemed  full  of 
them.  This  was  another  wild  Indian 
affair,  worse  than  the  first  reel.  Them 
chaps  were  good  yellers  and  jumpers, 
and  I  think  could  hold  their  own  with 
any  wild  Indian,  no  matter  what  tribe- 
he  belonged  to.  Their  lungs  were 
leathery,  their  limbs  tireless,  and  their 
wind  excellent. 

The  Reel  of  Tullock  came  next  and 
then  a  waltz,  "The  Pride  of  Scotland." 
Both  were  excellent. 

Number  nine  was  a  Highland  Fling. 
That  was  a  great  number.  It  aroused 
everyone  to  enthusiasm.  I  could  not 
help  but  admire  the  grace  of  the  danc- 


213 


ers.  So  quick  they  were,  so  unerring. 
Their  wind  was  so  good  that  I  felt  I 
would  have  hated  to  tackle  any  one  of 
them  in  a  scrap. 

Number  thirteen  was  a  sword-dance, 
danced  by  one  man  only.  Crossed 
swords  were  laid  on  the  platform  and 
the  highlander  danced  between  them 
slowly,  rapidly,  any  old  way,  and  never 
touched.  He  never  looked  down  while 
dancing,  and  how  he  managed  to  avoid 
these  swords  was  a  marvel  to  me.  The 
sword  blades  were  placed  close  together 
and  the  dance  was  kept  up  a  long  time. 
That  chap  was  an  artist  of  a  high  class, 
and  could  have  made  a  whole  lot  of 
money  on  the  stage  had  he  chosen  to  do 
so.  Maybe  he  was  a  celebrity  in  Glas- 
gow and  Scotland.  He  never  touched  a 
sword.  His  dancing  was  marvelous. 
It  was  evident  these  Highlanders  could 
do  something  besides  squeezing  wind 
out  of  a  bag  and  playing  "where,  oh 
where."  Yes,  they  were  all  right. 
Their  performance  was  a  good  one  and 
Worth  anyone's  while  to  see.  When  I  re- 
turned to  mv  lodgings  that  evening  I 
told  my  landlady  that  I  had  attended 


214 


the  dance  in  the  Green  and  she  wanted 
to  know  how  I  liked  it.  I  told  her  truly 
that  it  was  the  best  I  had  ever  seen. 
And  it  was,  by  long  odds. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
TAKING  IN  A  GLASGOW  SHOW. 

The  evening  of  my  second  day's  stay 
in  Glasgow  I  put  in  by  taking  in  a  show 
at  the  theater.  It  was  the  Gayety  The- 
ater I  intended  to  go  to,  where  vaude- 
ville plays  were  given,  but  as  the  the- 
ater was  a  long  distance  from  the  Gor- 
bals  District,  I  had  some  trouble  finding 
it.  The  theatrical  performances  in 
Glasgow  begin  early,  some  at  half-past 
five  and  some  at  six  o'clock,  and  let  out 
at  about  nine  o'clock,  which  gives  those 
so  inclined  a  chance  to  go  to  bed  early. 
The  days  were  long  at  that  season  of 
the  year,  so  that  I  arrived  in  front  of 
the  theater  while  the  evening  sun  was 
still  high  in  the  heavens.  The  theater 
building  was  an  immense  one  of  stone 
and  very  lofty.     In  front  of  it  was  a 


215 


long  line  of  people  waiting  to  make  a 
rush  for  good  seats  in  the  gallery,  and  I 
joined  the  throng.  There  was  a  good 
deal  of  rough  horse-play  among  some  of 
the  fellows  waiting  there  and  a  whole 
lot  of  chaffing.  A  chap  behind  me  gave 
me  a  kick  in  the  rump  and  tipped  my 
hat  over  my  eyes,  which  he  deemed  a 
very  good  joke.  I  didn't  think  it  was 
and  told  him  not  to  get  too  gay,  where- 
upon he  roared  with  laughter.  He  told 
his  neighbors  that  they  had  a  greenhorn 
among  them,  whereupon  many  in  the 
crowd  made  life  a  burden  for  me  for  a 
while.  They  made  all  kinds  of  chaffing 
remarks,  they  jeered  me,  they  hooted 
me  and  groaned.  They  were  having  a 
whole  lot  of  fun  at  my  expense  but  I 
never  said  another  word,  for  what  was 
the  use?  I  was  mad  clear  through, 
though.  Had  I  only  had  a  gang  with 
me  there  might  have  been  a  different 
tale  to  tell.  I  was  alone  and  friendless. 
A  fellow  thinks  all  kinds  of  things  when 
a  crowd  gets  after  him. 

The  line  was  growing  longer  rapidly, 
and  before  the  doors  were  opened  a 
couple  of  hundred   people   must   have 


216 


been  on  the  street  waiting.  As  soon  as 
the  doors  were  opened  there  was  a 
grand  rush  and  scramble  to  secure  tick- 
ets. I  held  my  own  in  the  push,  though 
I  was  nearly  suffocated  and  squeezed 
flat,  but  managed  to  secure  a  ticket 
after  a  little  while,  for  which  I  paid 
twelve  cents — six  pence.  Cheap  enough 
if  the  show  is  any  good.  I  rushed  up 
the  spiral  stairway  after  the  crowd,  but 
before  I  got  half  way  up  I  was  obliged 
to  stop  and  blow  off  steam.  The  steps 
were  many  and  winding.  I  did  not  no- 
tice anyone  else  stopping  for  a  breather 
which  led  me  to  conclude  that  the 
Scots  are  a  long-winded  race.  Two  or 
three  times  did  I  have  to  stop  before  I 
reached  nigger-heaven,  my  destination. 
The  gallery  was  so  high  up  and  so  close 
to  the  ceiling  that  I  could  have  touched 
the  ceiling  with  my  hand  when  standing 
up.  Below,  clear  to  the  orchestra 
seats,  or  "pit,"  as  it  is  called,  was  gal- 
lery after  gallery.  Some  of  these  were 
divided  off  into  queer  contrivances 
called  "stalls."  To  me  the  stalls  seemed 
like  huge  dry-goods  boxes,  with  the  part 
facing  outward,  toward  the  stage,  open, 


217 


from  the  middle  to  the  top.  The  lower 
part  was  boarded  in.  They  were  queer- 
looking  contrivances,  and  the  people  in 
them  looked  as  if  they  were  caged.  The 
stalls  were  supposed  to  be  private  and 
exclusive — in  a  word,  private  boxes. 

Some  little  boys  in  livery  were  wan- 
dering about  on  the  various  floors  cry- 
ing out  "Program"  with  the  accent  on 
the  first  syllable,  and  as  I  wanted  one,  I 
hailed  a  boy  who  gave  me  one  and 
charged  me  a  penny  for  it  (two  cents). 
Printing  must  be  dear  in  Glasgow,  I 
thought,  to  charge  a  fellow  two  cents 
for  a  printed  piece  of  paper.  I  said 
nothing  but  scanned  the  program.  Here 
is  what  it  said : 

No.   1 — La   Pnits   d  'Amour,  Ralfe;   Band. 

No,  2 — Mr.  John  Robertson,  Baritone  Vocalist. 

No.   3 — Drew  and   Richards  in    their  specialty   act, 
Old   Fashioned   Times. 

No.   4 — Mr.   Billy  Ford,  Negro   Comedian. 

No.  5 — The  Alaskas — Ben  and  Frank — Comic  Hori- 
zontal Bar  Experts. 

No.  6 — Mr.  Edward  Harris,  London   Comedian. 

No.  7 — Miss  Josie  Trimmer.  Child  Actress,  and  the 
Forget-me-nots,  Vocalists   and  Dancers. 


218 


No.  8 — Selection,  Yoeman  of  the  Guard. 

No.  9 — Sallie  Adams,  American  Serpentine  Dancer. 

No.  10 — The  Gees,  in  their  Musical  Oddity,  Inven- 
tion. 

No.    11 — Collins     and     Dickens,    in     their    Refined 
Specialty  act. 

No.  12 — Mr.  Charles  Russell,  Comedian  and  descrip- 
tive Vocalist. 

No.  13 — National  Anthem. 

Quite  a  lengthy  program  this  and  it 
looked  to  me  as  if  it  might  be  good,  es- 
pecially the  Serpentine  Dancer,  who 
was  a  countrywoman  of  mine,  and  the 
darkies,  who  were  probably  country- 
men. 

After  a  moderate  wait  the  lights 
were  turned  up,  the  orchestra  tuned  up 
and  soon  the  band  gave  us  a  selection 
by  Balfe  called  "La  Puits  d' Amour."  I 
didn't  know  what  "La  Puits  d' Amour" 
was  but  it  didn't  make  any  difference 
to  me.  It  was  some  kind  of  music.  The 
selection  was  a  long  one  and  the  band 
sawed  away  at  it  as  if  they  were  never 
going  to  stop.  It  was  so  long  drawn  out 
in  fact  that  my  wits  went  a  wool  gather- 


219 


ing  and  I  nearly  fell  asleep,  for  tedious 
music  is  apt  to  make  me  snooze.  When 
the  music  stopped  I  woke  up  and  was 
ready  for  business. 

The  first  event  on  the  program  was 
Mr.  John  Robertson,  Baritone  Vocalist. 

The  band  played  a  preliminary  flour- 
ish when  out  walked  Mr.  Robertson 
dressed  in  a  spike-tail  coat,  black  vest 
and  biled  shirt.  Hanging  in  front  of  his 
vest  was  a  long,  thick  watch-chain 
which  must  have  been  a  valuable  one, 
for  it  looked  like  gold.  Mr.  Robertson 
sang  a  song  and  kept  a  hold  on  his 
watch  chain.  The  song  was  hum-drum 
and  so  was  Mr.  Robertson's  voice.  Mr. 
Robertson  made  no  great  hit  and  when 
he  left  us  he  took  his  chain  with  him. 

Number  two  was  Drew  and  Richards 
in  their  specialty  act,  "Old  Fashioned 
Times." 

A  lady  and  gent  came  upon  the  stage 
dressed  in  very  old-fashioned  garb,  and 
sang.  Just  as  soon  as  the  lady  opened 
her  mouth  to  sing  I  knew  she  was  a 
gentleman  and  she  couldn't  sing  any 
more  like  a  lady  than  I  could.  I  have 
seen  female  impersonators  on  the  stage 


220 


many  a  time  and  they  carried  out  the 
illusion  perfectly,  but  this  chap  wasn't 
in  it  at  all.  He  gave  me  a  pain.  I 
wasn't  sorry  when  this  couple  made 
their  exit. 

Mr.  Billy  Ford,  the  Negro  Comedian, 
next  came  to  the  front.  Now  there'll  be 
a  little  something  doing,  anyway, 
thought  I. 

Mr.  Billy  Ford  was  not  a  negro  at 
all  but  a  Britisher  with  a  cockney  ac- 
cent. Mavbe  I  wasn't  astonished !  Holy 
Smoke !  He  sang  out  bold  as  you  please 
just  as  if  he  were  singing  like  a  darkey 
and  the  gallery  gods  went  into  ecstacies 
over  him.  They  laughed,  roared,  and 
chirruped.  They  seemed  to  think  a  heap 
of  Mr.  Ford,  but  I  felt  like  going  some- 
where to  lay  off  and  die.  A  nigger  with 
a  cockney  accent!  Oh  my!  Oh  my! 
Will  wonders  never  cease? 

The  comic  horizontal  bar  experts,  the 
Alaskas,  were  very  tame  turners,  and 
to  my  view,  anything  but  funny.  I  had 
seen  better  stunts  than  they  performed 
in  free  shows  on  the  Bowery  at  Coney 
Island. 


22  L 


The  sixth  number  on  the  program 
was  Mr.  Edward  Harris,  London  Com- 
edian. Here  at  last  was  someone  who 
could  sing  and  act.  Mr.  Harris  was 
from  the  London  Music  Halls  and  was 
evidently  a  favorite,  for  he  was  given 
a  great  reception.  He  was  greeted  with 
roars  of  welcome  and  shouts  and  calls 
from  the  gallery  gods  that  seemed  un- 
familiar and  queer  to  me.  Even  the 
people  in  the  pit  and  stalls  applauded 
loudly.  Mr.  Harris  turned  himself  loose 
and  impersonated  London  characters  in 
a  way  that  brought  forth  the  wildest 
enthusiasm.  Some  of  the  gods  nearly 
died  laughing  at  his  comicalities  and  a 
man  away  down  in  the  pit  laughed  out 
loud  in  such  a  way  that  it  made  me 
think  of  a  dream  I  once  had  when  I  saw 
ghosts  playing  leap-frog  over  a  grave- 
yard fence  and  having  an  elegant  time 
of  it.  The  noise  this  man  made  was  a 
hieh  sepulchral  shriek  like  theirs.  It 
was  wild  and  weird. 

The  comedian  was  first  class  and  the 
audience  was  loath  to  let  him  go.  They 
recalled  him  several  times  and  he  re- 
sponded. 


222 


Number  seven  was  Miss  Josie  Trim- 
mer, child  actress,  and  the  two  Forget- 
Me-Nots,  vocalists  and  dancers.  This 
was  another  tame  affair  for  the  two 
Forget-Me-Nots  were  Scottish  lassies 
who  got  off  coon  songs  with  a  Scotch 
accent  and  had  acquired  an  improper 
idea  of  coon  dancing.  Their  act  was  a 
caricature  and  a —  well,  never  mind.  It 
isn't  right  to  be  too  critical.  They  were 
doing  the  best  they  could  and  were  ap- 
preciated by  the  audience,  so  it  may  be 
well  for  me  not  to  say  too  much. 

The  next  number  was  a  selection  by 
the  band,  " Yeoman  of  the  Guard/' 
which  was  played  after  a  long  intermis- 
sion. I  was  getting  rather  weary  by 
this  time  and  had  half  a  mind  to  go 
home,  but  I  wanted  to  see  the  serpentine 
dancer,  Sallie  Adams,  who  was  a  coun- 
trywoman of  mine.  It  seemed  to  me  I 
hadn't  seen  a  countryman  or  country- 
woman for  a  coon's  a^e,  and  T  felt  as  if 
I  just  couldn't  fo  until  I  saw  Sallie. 

When  the  time  came  for  Mis5?  Adams 
to  appear  on  the  stage,  all  the  lights  in 
the  theater  were  turned  out  and  a 
strong  calcium  light  was  thrown  upon 


223 


the  stage.  Sallie  hopped  into  view 
chipper  as  you  please,  never  caring  a 
whoop  who  saw  her,  countryman  or  for- 
eigner, and  she  began  to  throw  diaph- 
anous folds  of  cheese-cloth  all  over  her- 
self and  around  herself.  Different  col- 
ored lights  were  thrown  upon  her  drap- 
eries as  she  danced,  and  the  effect  was 
thrilling  and  made  my  hair  stand  up. 
Sallie  was  all  right.  She  was  onto  her 
job  in  good  shape.  Maybe  I  didn't  ap- 
p]aud?  I  roared,  I  stamped  and  whis- 
tled, and  my  neighbors  must  have 
thought  I  was  clean  off.  The  gorgeous 
spectacle  reminded  me  of  the  Fourth 
of  July  at  home,  when  sky-rockets  go 
up  with  a  hiss  and  a  roar,  Roman  can- 
dles color  the  black  skies,  sissers  chase 
through  the  air  like  snakes,  bombs  ex- 
plode and  fall  in  stars  of  all  colors. 
Siss!    Boom!    Ah! 

When  Sallie  made  her  exit  I  made 
mine,  for  I  had  got  rny  money's  worth 
and  was  satisfied. 


224 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
MR.  ROBERT  BURNS,  THE  POET. 

One  thing  that  struck  me  very  forc- 
ibly before  I  had  been  in  Glasgow  any 
length  of  time  was  the  fact  that  the 
people  thought  a  great  deal  of  Mr. 
Burns,  the  poet.  Streets  and  lanes  were 
named  after  him,  inns  and  taverns, 
shoes,  hats,  caps,  clothing,  tobacco, 
bum-looking  cigars,  bad  whiskey,  in 
fact  his  name  was  attached  to  all  kinds 
of  articles  to  make  them  sell,  and  in 
some  cases  merely  as  a  mark  of  respect 
or  affection. 

It  was  plain  to  the  most  casual  ob- 
server that  Mr.  Burns  was  thought  a 
great  deal  of.  He  had  been  dead  a  hun- 
dred years  or  more,  yet  his  personality 
pervaded  the  place,  and  his  picture  was 
to  be  seen  on  signs,  posters,  in  the 
stores  and  elsewhere.  For  Mr.  Burns 
most  Scotchmen  will  die,  Scotch  ladies 
sieh,  Scotch  babies  cry,  Scotch  dogs 
ki-yi.  He  was  a  good-looking  chap,  and 
highly  lifted,  but  the  Door  fellow  died 
before  he  had  reached  his  thirty-eighth 


225 


year,  which  was  a  national  calamity. 
Had  he  lived  there  is  no  telling  what  he 
might  have  accomplished,  for  during 
the  short  span  of  his  life  he  did  won- 
derful things.  He  took  the  old  Scotch 
songs  that  had  been  written  before  his 
day  and  gave  them  a  twist  of  his  own 
which  improved  them  vastly,  and  made 
them  immortal;  he  portrayed  Scottish 
life  in  a  way  that  no  poet  has  ever  imi- 
tated or  will  imitate  maybe,  and  he 
loved  his  country  deeply  and  fervently. 
His  father  was  a  rancher,  and  a  pov- 
erty-stricken one  at  that,  and  the  poet 
was  born  in  a  shack  on  the  farm.  The 
house  was  a  little  old  one  of  stone,  and 
a  rich  man  of  the  day  would  have  used 
it  for  a  chicken  house.  In  this  house 
and  in  a  china  closet  in  the  kitchen  was 
born  the  greatest  poet  Scotland  ever 
produced.  When  Bobbie  grew  up  the 
old  man  set  him  a-plowing,  and  while 
at  this  work  the  boy  composed  rhymes 
which  were  so  good  that  some  of  his 
friends  induced  him  to  print  them.  Old 
man  Burns  didn't  see  any  good  in  the 
verses,  for  he  knew  more  about  poultry 
than  he  did  about  poetry,  and  told  his 


226 


son  to  cut  it  out.    Bobbie  couldn't,  for 
it  just  came  natural. 

Before  he  was  twenty-one  the  boy 
had  written  lots  of  good  poetry  and  it 
was  put  in  book  form  and  printed  at 
Kilmarnock,  a  town  not  far  from  his 
birthplace.  The  birthplace  of  the  poet 
was  on  the  farm  near  the  town  of  Ayr, 
in  Ayrshire,  and  that  whole  county  (or 
shire)  is  now  called  "The  Burns  Coun- 
try/' because  it  was  the  poet's  stamp- 
ing-ground. The  poet  knew  lots  of  peo- 
ple throughout  the  county  and  his  writ- 
ings have  immortalized  many  a  place  in 
it.  After  his  book  had  been  printed  he 
sprang  into  fame  at  once  and  was  made 
much  of  by  man,  woman  and  child.  Be- 
ing a  good-looking  chap,  the  girls  began 
to  run  after  him,  and  poor  Burnsie  had 
the  time  of  his  life.  He  wanted  to  steer 
clear  of  'em,  but  he  couldn't,  for  the 
girls  liked  and  admired  him  too  much. 
The  result  was  that  a  few  of  them  got 
into  trouble,  and  soon  some  wild-eyed 
fathers  and  brothers  went  gunning  for 
him.  The  fault  was  not  the  poet's 
wholly,  for  he  couldn't  have  kept  these 
girls  away  from  him  with  a  cannon. 


227 


To  avoid  such  troubles  in  the  future  he 
finally  married  a  blond,  buxom  young 
lassie  called  Jean  Armour,  by  whom  he 
had  twins,  the  first  rattle  out  of  the 
box.  Not  long  after  that  he  had  two  at 
a  throw  again.  Bobbie  could  do  some- 
thing besides  write  poetry,  evidently. 
He  was  a  thoroughbred  any  way  you 
took  him,  though  the  people  at  that  time 
did  not  know  it  and  did, not  fully  appre- 
ciate his  great  qualities.  It  was  only 
after  he  had  been  dead  a  long  time  that 
the  world  fully  realized  his  worth.  At 
the  present  day  they  estimate  him  prop- 
erly and  their  affection  and  reverence 
for  him  are  boundless.  Some  of  his 
countrymen  call  him  simply  Burns, 
others  call  him  Rabbie,  and  still  others, 
"puir  Rabbie,"  puir  meaning  poor. 

The  country  that  he  lived  in,  Ayrshire, 
is  visited  by  a  million  strangers  or  more 
every  year,  who  visit  the  shack  he  was 
born  in  and  the  places  he  made  im- 
mortal by  his  writings.  The  shack  has 
been  fixed  up  and  improved  somewhat 
since  he  lived  in  it,  and  is  now  a  sort  of 
museum  where  are  displayed  various 
editions  of  the  books,  manuscripts  and 


228 


other  things,  that  once  were  his.  Among 
the  things  is  a  walking-cane  that  a  New 
York  lawyer  named  Kennedy  somehow 
got  hold  of.  How  Kennedy  got  the  cane 
I  don't  know,  but  he  returned  it  to  the 
Burns  collection  in  the  cottage.  Mr. 
Kennedy  is  a  rare  exception  to  New 
York  lawyers  in  general,  for  they  rare- 
ly return  anything  that  they  once  get 
their  hands  on.  Mr.  Kennedy  must 
have  had  a  whole  lot  of  regard  for  the 
great  poet. 

Lots  of  people  have  never  read  any 
of  Burns'  poems.  I  wonder  would  they 
appreciate  it  if  I  showed  them  a  few 
samples?  I  will  not  print  the  long  ones, 
but  only  the  shorter  ones,  for  even  they 
will  show,  I  am  sure,  the  greatness  of 
"Puir  Rabbie." 

As  I  said  in  a  previous  chapter,  when 
I  first  set  foot  in  Scotland  it  was  at 
Greenock,  about  25  miles  from  Glas- 
gow, where  a  tender  took  us  ashore 
from  the  Furnessia.  Greenock  is  quite 
a  city,  for  it  contains  a  good  many  fac- 
tories and  other  establishments,  but  the 
city  has  become  famous  the  world  over 
just  because  of  one  little  circumstance 


229 


connected  with  the  great  poet,  namely : 
A  young  girl  named  Highland  Mary 
lived  there  who  loved,  and  was  beloved 
by  the  poet,  and  they  were  engaged  to 
be  married.  Sad  to  relate,  the  young 
girl  died  while  she  was  engaged  to  the 
poet,  which  saddened  him  considerably. 
Years  afterward  he  married  Jean  Ar- 
mour. The  poet  wrote  some  lines  to  the 
memory  of  Highland  Mary  which  al- 
most any  Scotchman  or  Scotch  lady  can 
recite  by  heart.    Here  they  are : 

HIGHLAND    MARY. 

Ye  banks  and  braes  and  streams  around 

The  Castle  o'  Montgomery, 

Green  be  your  woods,  and  fair  your  flowers, 

Your  waters  never  drumlie; 

There  Summer  first  unfauld  her  robes, 

And  there  the  langest  tarry ; 

For  there  I  took  the  last  farewell 

O'  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 


230 

How  sweetly  bloomed  the  gay  green  birk 
How  rich  the  hawthorn 's  blossom ! 
As,  underneath  their  fragrant  shade 
I  clasped  her  to  my  bosom ! 
The  golden  hours,  on  angels'  wings 
Flew  o  'er  me  and  my  dearie ; 
For  dear  to  me  as  light  and  life 
Was  my  sweet  Highland  Mary. 

Wi'  mony  a  vow  and  locked  embrace 

Our  parting  was  fu'  tender; 

And  pledging  oft  to  meet  again 

We  tore  oursels  asunder; 

But,  0!  fell  Death's  untimely  frost, 

That  nipt  my  flower  sae  early ! 

Now  green's  the  sod  and  cauld's  the  clay 

That  wraps  my  Highland  Mary. 

0  pale,  pale  now  those  rosy  lips 

1  oft  ha'e  kissed  sae  fondly! 

And  closed  for  aye  the  sparkling  glance, 
That  dwelt  on  me  sae  kindly! 
And  mouldering  now  in  silent  dust 


231 


That  heart  that  lo'ed  me  dearly ! 
But  still  within  my  bosom's  core 
Shall  live  my  Highland  Mary. 

Was  there  anything  ever  written 
more  sad,  pathetic  and  sweet? 

Following  is  a  little  poem  written  in 
a  different  vein  which  may  serve  as  a 
sort  of  temperance  lesson  to  some  hus- 
bands who  stay  out  late  at  night  hav- 
ing a  good  time.  The  recreant  hus- 
band's name  in  the  poem  is  Mr.  Jo, 
and  Mrs.  Jo  sends  it  in  to  him  good  and 
hard.    Says  Mr.  Jo: 

O  let  me  in  this  ae  night, 
This  ae,  ae,  ae  night ; 
For  pity's  sake  this  ae  night, 
O  rise  and  let  me  in,  Jo ! 

Thou  hear'st  the  winter  wind  and  weet; 
Nae  star  blinks  thro'  the  driving  sleet. 


232 

Tak'  pity  on  my  weary  feet, 
And  shield  me  frae  the  rain,  Jo. 

The  bitter  blast  that   'round  me  blaws 
Unheeded  howls,  unheeded  fa's; 
The  cauldness  o'  thine  heart's  the  cause 
Of  a'  my  grief  and  pain,  Jo. 

O  let  me  in  this  ae,  ae  night, 
This  ae,  ae,  ae  night; 
For  pity's  sake  this  ae  night, 
0  rise  and  let  me  in,  Joe. 

Mr.  Jo's  pleadings  were  in  vain,  to 
judge  from  Mrs.  Jo's  answer,  which  is 
as  follows : 

0  tell  na  me  o '  wind  and  rain ! 
Upbraid  na  me  wi'  eauld  disdain! 
Gae  back  the  gate  ye  came  again — 

1  winna  let  you  in,  Jo. 

I  haven't  the  least  idea  where  Jo 
spent  the  night,  but  it   surely   wasn't 


233 


with  Mrs.  Jo.  There  are  lots  of  hus- 
bands who  get  full  and  don't  know  when 
to  go  home.  Let  them  paste  this  poem 
in  their  hats.    It  may  do  them  good. 

Here  is  an  old  song  revised  by  Puir 
Rabbie,  whose  magic  touch  has  made  it 
better  and  more  famous  than  it  ever 
was  before.  It  is  entitled :  "Will  ye  go 
to  the  Highlands,  Leezie  Lindsay  ?" 

Will  ye  go  to  the  Hielands,  Leezie  Lindsay, 
Will  ye  go  to  the  Hielands  wi'  me? 

Will  ye  go  to  the  Hielands,  Leezie  Lindsay, 
My  pride  and  my  darling  to  be? 

To  gang  to  the  Hielands  wi'  you,  sir, 
I  dinna  ken  how  that  may  be; 

For  I  ken  na  the  land  that  ye  live  in, 
Nor  ken  I  the  lad  I'm  gaun  wi'. 

0  Leezie,  lass,  ye  maun  ken  little, 
If  sae  that  ye  dinna  ken  me ; 


234 

My  name  is  Lord  Ronald  McDonald, 
A  chieftain  o'  high  degree. 

She  has  kilted  her  coats  o '  green  satin, 
She  has  kilted  them  np  to  the  knee ; 

And  she's  off  wi'  Lord  Ronald  McDonald 
His  bride  and  his  darling  to  be. 

A  whole  lot  of  human  nature  about 
this  little  poem  and  a  fine  swing  to  it. 
Burns  had  a  touch  that  no  one  has  ever 
imitated  or  ever  can  imitate.  It  is  a 
twist,  which  for  want  of  a  better  name, 
I  would  call  "a  French  Twist."  Imi- 
tate it,  ye  who  can ! 

Everyone  knows  "Auld  Lang  Syne." 
It  is  an  old  song  that  didn't  amount  to 
much  until  Burns  got  a  hold  of  it  and 
put  his  twist  to  it.  Here  it  is : 

AULD  LANG  SYNE. 

Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot, 
And  never  brought  to  min'? 


235 

Should  auld  acquaintance  be  forgot 

And  days  o'  auld  lang  syne? 
For  auld  lang  syne,  my  dear, 

For  auld  lang  syne, 
Well  tak'  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet 

For  auld  lang  syne. 

We  twa  ha'e  run  about  the  braes 

And  pu'd  the  gowans  fine; 
But  we've  wandered  many  a  weary  foot 

Sin'  auld  lang  syne; 
We  two  ha'e  paid  It  i'  the  burn 

Frae  mornin '  sun  till  dine ; 
But  seas  between  us  braid  ha'e  roar'd    - 

Sin  auld  lang  syne. 

Chorus. 

And  here's  a  hand,  my  trusty  fren, 

And  gie  us  a  hand  o'  thine; 
And  we'll  take  a  right  good  wallie-waught 

For  auld  lang  syne. 


236 

Chorus. 

And  surely  ye '11  be  your  pint  stoup, 

And  surely  I'll  be  mine; 
And  we'll  take  a  cup  o'  kindness  yet 

For  auld  lang  syne. 

Following  is  a  composition  that  is 
famous  the  world  over  and  is  used  as  a 
recitation,  not  only  in  this  country  but 
in  every  other  English-speaking  coun- 
try. It  is  entitled:  "Bruce  at  Bannock- 
burn"  : 

BRUCE    AT    BANNOCKBURN. 

Scots,  wha  ha  'e  wi '  Wallace  bled ; 
Scots,  whom  Bruce  has  often  led ; 
Welcome  to  your  gory  bed, 
Or  to  glorious  victorie ! 

Now's  the  day,  and  now's  the  hour; 
See  the  front  o'  battle  lower; 
See  approach  proud  Edward's  power — 
Edward!  chains  and  slaverie! 


237 

Wha  will  be  a  traitor  knave ! 
Wha  can  fill  a  coward's  grave? 
Wha  sae  base  as  be  a  slave? 

Traitor!     Coward!     turn  and  flee. 

Wha  for  Scotland's  king  and  law 
Freedom's  sword  will  strongly  draw, 
Freemen  stand  or  freemen  fa', 
Caledonian!  on  wi'  me! 

By  oppression 's  woes  and  pains ! 
By  your  sons  in  servile  chains ! 
We  will  drain  our  dearest  veins, 

But  they  shall— they  shall  be  free! 

Lay  the  proud  usurper  low ! 
Tyrants  fall  in  every  foe! 
Liberty's  in  every  blow! 

Forward !  Let  us  do  or  die. 

Here  is  a  love  song  to  Jennie,  en- 
titled, "Come,  Let  Me  Take  Thee!" 


238 
COME,  LET  ME  TAKE  THEE. 

Come,  let  me  take  thee  to  my  breast 

And  pledge  we  ne'er  shall  sunder; 
And  I  shall  spurn  as  vilest  dust 

The  world's  wealth  and  grandeur; 
And  do  I  hear  my  Jennie  own 

That  equal  transports  move  her"? 
I  ask  for  dearest  life  alone 

That  I  may  live  to  love  her. 

Thus  in  my  arms,  wi'  a'  thy  charms, 

I  clasp  my  countless  treasure ; 
111  seek  nae  mair  o'  heaven  to  share 

Than  sic  a  moment's  pleasure; 
And  by  thy  een  sae  bonnie  blue 

I  swear  I  'm  thine  forever ! 
And  on  thy  lips  I  seal  my  vow, 

And  break  it  I  shall  never. 

One  day  Burns  was  called  upon  for 
a  toast  during  a  dinner  which  was  given 
by  the  Dumfries  Volunteers,  in  honor 


239 

of  their  anniversary.  The  poet  got  up 
and  spoke  the  following  lines  extem- 
pore: 

Instead  of  a  song,  boys,  I'll  give  you  a  toast — 

Here  is  the  memory  of  those  on  the  12th  that 
we  lost ! 

That  we  lost,  did  I  say ;  nay,  by  heaven,  that  we 
found ; 

For  their  fame  it  shall  last  while  the  world 
goes  around. 

The  next  in  succession  111  give  you— the  King! 

Whoe'er  would  betray  him,  on  high  may  he 
swing ! 

And  here's  the  grand  fabric,  our  Free  Consti- 
tution, 

As  built  on  the  base  of  the  great  Eevolution. 

And  longer  with  politics  not  to  be  crammed, 

Be  anarchy  cursed  and  be  tyranny  damned ; 

And  who  would  to  Liberty  e'er  be  disloyal, 

May  his  son  be  a  hangman  and  he  his  first  trial. 


240 

A   GRACE  BEFORE  MEAT. 

Some  ha'e  meat  and  canna  eat  it, 
And  some  wad  eat  that  want  it; 
But  we  ha'e  meat  and  we  can  eat, 
And  sae  the  Lord  be  thankit. 

TO    A    HEN-PECKED    COUNTRY    SQUIRE. 

As  father  Adam  first  was  fooled, 
A  case  that's  still  too  common, 
Here  lies  a  man  a  woman  ruled— 
The  devil  .ruled  the  woman. 

The  poet's  father,  William  Burness, 
lies  buried  in  a  graveyard  at  Alloway. 
The  following  lines  were  written  by  his 
son  to  his  memory : 

LINES    TO    HIS   FATHER. 

0  ye  whose  cheek  the  tear  of  pity  stains, 
Draw  near  with  pious  reverence  and  attend. 


241 

Here  lie  the  loving  husband's  dear  remains, 
The  tender  father  and  the  generous  friend. 

The  pitying  heart  that  felt  for  human  woe; 
The    dauntless   heart    that   feared   no    human 

pride ; 
The  friend  of  man,  to  vice  alone  a  foe ; 
"For  e'en  his  failings  leaned  to  virtue's  side." 

I  believe  there  are  some  husbands  who 
grow  tired  of  the  married  state  after 
they  have  been  in  it  a  while.  They  came 
to  find  out  that  it  isn't  all  "beer  and 
skittles/'  as  they  first  imagined  it 
would  be.  Even  "Puir  Rabbie"  had 
troubles  of  his  own,  as  the  following 
will  show,  for  it  is  written  about  him- 
self: 

"Oh,  that  I  had  n'er  been  married! 
I  would  never  had  nae  eare ; 
Now  I  Ve  gotten  wife  and  bairns, 
And  they  cry  crowdie  ev'ry  mair; 


242 

Ance  crowdie,  twice  crowdie, 
Three  times  crowdie  in  a  day; 
Gin  ye  crowdie  ony  mair, 
Ye  '11  crowdie  a '  my  meal  away. 

Waefu'  want  and  hunger  fley  me, 
Glowrin  ■  by  the  hallan  en ' ; 
Sair  I  feeht  them  at  the  door, 
Bat  aye  I'm  eerie  the  come  ben." 

The  poet  had  lots  of  cronies  and 
friends,  and  he  was  as  loyal  to  some 
of  them  as  they  were  to  him.  He  was 
a  good  boon  companion  and  liked  "a  wee 
drappie"  (nip)  himself  as  well  as  any- 
one. Many  an  alehouse  proudly  pro- 
claims that  he  visited  it  and  preserves 
the  chair  or  bench  that  he  sat  on,  the 
glass  he  drank  out  of  or  the  table  he 
sat  at,  to  this  day,  and  any  and  every 
thing  that  is  familiar  with  his  presence 
is  sacred  and  treasured.    William  Muir 


243 


of  Tarbolton  is  the  friend  to  whom  the 
following  lines  were  written : 

ON  A   FRIEND. 

An  honest  man  here  lies  at  rest, 
As  e'er  God  with  his  image  blest; 
The  friend  of  man,  the  friend  of  truth ; 
The  friend  of  age,  the  guide  of  youth ; 
Few  hearts  like  his  with  virtue  warmed, 
Few  heads  with  knowledge  so  informed; 
If  there's  another  world,  he  lives  in  bliss; 
If  there  is  none  he  made  the  best  of  this. 

Mr.  John  Dove  kept  an  inn  at  Mauch- 
line  called  the  "Whiteford  Arms/'  and 
the  poet  pays  his  respects  to  him  in  the 
following  fashion: 

ON  JOHN  DOVE,  INNKEEPER. 

Here  lies  Johnny  Pidgeon ; 
What  was  his  religion? 

Whae'er  desires  to  ken, 


244 

IY>  some  other  warl' 
Maun  follow  the  carl, 

For  here  Johnny  Pidgeon  had  nane. 

Strong  ale  was  ablution — 
Small  beer  persecution — 

A  dram  was  momento  mori ; 
But  a  full  flowing  bowl 
Was  the  saving  his  soul, 

And  port  was  celestial  glory. 

To  judge  from  the  following,  the  poet 
did  not  have  a  great  respect  for  all  rul- 
ing elders  of  the  church.  Souter  Hood 
was  a  miserly  one. 

TO  A  CELEBRATED  RULING  ELDER. 

Here  Souter  Hood  in  death  doth  sleep ; 
To  hell,  if  he's  gone  thither; 
Satan,  gie  him  thy  gear  to  keep, 
Hell  haud  it  weel  thegither. 


245 
TO    ANOTHER    HEN-PECKED    HUSBAND. 

0  Death,  hadst  thou  but  spared  his  life 

Whom  we  this  day  lament, 
We  freely  wad  exchanged  the  wife 

An'  a'  been  weel  content. 

The  poet  was  hospitably  entertained 
at  a  place  one  day  called  for  short  and 
sweet  Dahna  Cardoch.  In  appreciation 
he  got  off  the  following : 

When  death 's  dark  stream  I  ferry  o  'er, 

A  time  that  surely  shall  come — 
In  heaven  itself  111  ask  no  more 

Than  just  a  Highland  Welcome. 

One  Sunday  while  in  the  northern 
part  of  Scotland  with  Nicol,  a  friend  of 
his,  he  visited  the  Carron  Works  which 
they  had  traveled  some  distance  to  see. 
There  was  a  sign  on  the  gate :  "No  Ad- 
mittance to  Strangers/'  which  barred 


246 

the  poet  and  his  friend.  Here  is  an 
apostrophe  by  Burns  in  regard  to  the 
matter : 

NO   ADMITTANCE   TO    STRANGERS. 

We  earn'  na  here  to  view  your  warks 

In  hopes  to  be  mair  wise, 
But  only,  lest  we  gang  to  hell, 

It  may  be  nae  surprise ; 

But  when  we  tirled  at  your  door, 

Your  porter  dought  na  hear  us; 
Sae  may,  should  we  to  hell's  yetts  come, 

Your  billy  Satan  serve  us. 

LORD  GREGORY. 

0,  mirk,  mirk  is  this  midnight  hour, 

And  loud  the  tempest  roar; 
A  waeful  wanderer  seeks  thy  tower — 

Lord  Gregory,  ope  the  door. 

An  exile  frae  her  father's  ha', 
And  a'  for  loving  thee; 


247 

At  least  some  pity  on  me  show, 
If  love  it  may  na  be. 

Lord  Gregory,  mind'st  thou  not  the  grove 

By  bonnie  Irwine  side, 
Where  first  I  owned  that  virgin  love 

I  lang,  lang  had  denied! 

How  often  didst  thou  pledge  and  vow 

Thou  wad  for  aye  be  mine; 
And  my  fond  heart,  itself  sae  true, 

It  ne'er  mistrusted  thine. 

Hard  is  thy  heart,  Lord  Gregory, 

And  flinty  is  thy  breast — 
Thou  dart  of  heaven  that  flashed  by, 
0,  wilt  thou  give  me  rest! 

Ye  mustering  thunders  from  above, 

Your  willing  victim  see! 
But  spare  and  pardon  my  fause  love 

His  wrangs  to  Heaven  and  me ! 


248 
MARY  MORISON. 

0,  Mary,  at  thy  window  be, 

It  is  the  wished,  the  trysted  hour ! 

Those  smiles  and  glances  let  me  see 

That  makes  the  miser's  treasure  poor. 

How  blithely  wad  I  bide  the  stoure 
A  weary  slave  frae  sun  to  sun, 

Could  I  the  rich  reward  secure — 
The  lovely  Mary  Morison. 

Jestreen,  when  to  the  trembling  string 

The  dance  gaed  through  the  lighted  ha', 
To  thee  my  fancy  took  its  wing  — 

I  sat,  but  neither  heard  nor  saw ; 
Though  this  was  fair,  and  that  was  braw, 

And  you  the  toast  of  a'  the  town, 
I  sighed  and  said  amang  them  a' 

"Ye  are  na  Mary  Morison." 

0  Mary,  canst  thou  wreck  his  peace, 
Wha  for  thy  sake  wad  gladly  die ; 


249 

Or  canst  thou  break  that  heart  of  his 

Whose  only  faut  is  loving  thee? 
If  love  for  love  thou  wilt  na  gi  'e 

At  least  be  pity  to  me  shown, 
A  thought  ungentle  canna  be 

The  thought  o'  Mary  Morison. 

TO  A  LAIRD. 

When deceased  to  the  devil  went  down 

'Twas  nothing  would  serve    him    but    Satan's 

own  crown ; 
Thy  fool's  head,  quoth  Satan,  that  crown  shall 

wear  never, 
Grant  thou'rt  wicked  but  not  quite  so  clever. 

OPEN  THE  DOOR  TO  ME,  0! 

0,  open  the  door  some  pity  to  show, 

0,  open  the  door  to  me,  0! 
Though  thou  has  been  fause,  I'll  ever  prove 
true, 

0,  open  the  door  to  me,  0 ! 


250 


Cauld  is  the  blast  upon  my  pale  cheek, 

But  caulder  thy  love  for  me,  0 ! 
The  frost  that  freezes  the  life  at  my  heart 

Is  naught  to  my  pains  frae  thee,  0 ! 
The  wan  moon  is  setting  behind  the  white  wave, 

And  time  is  setting  with  me,  0! 
False  friends,  false  love,  farewell!  for  mair 

I'll  ne'er  trouble  them  nor  thee,  0! 
She  has   opened  the   door,   she  has   opened   it 
wide; 

She  sees  his  pale  corse  on  the  plain,  0! 
My  true  love !  she  cried,  and  sank  down  by  his 
side 

Never  to  rise  again,  0 ! 

TO    CARDONESS. 

Bless  the  Eedeemer,  Cardoness, 
With  grateful  lifted  eyes; 
Who  said  that  not  the  soul  alone 
But  body,  too,  must  rise. 


251 

For  had  he  said,  "The  soul  alone 
From  death  I  shall  deliver," 
Alas!  alas!  O  Cardoness, 
Then  thou  hadst  slept  forever. 

YOUNG  JESSIE. 

True   hearted   was  he,   the   said  swain  o'  the 
Yarrow, 

And  fair  are  the  maids  on  the  banks  o'  the 
Ayr, 
But  by  the  sweet  side  of  the  Nith's  winding 
river 

Are  lovers-  as  faithful  and  maidens  as  fair ; 
To  equal  young  Jessie  seek  Scotland  all  over, 

To  equal  young  Jessie  you  seek  it  in  vain ; 
Grace,  beauty  and  elegance  fetter  her  lover, 

And  maidenly  modesty  fixes  the  chain. 
0,  fresh  is  the  rose  in  the  gay  dewy  morning, 
And  sweet  is  the  lily  at  evening  close; 
But  in  the  fair  presence  o'  lovely  young  Jessie 

Unseen  is  the  lily,  unheeded  the  rose. 


252 

Love  sits  in  her  smile,  a  wizard  ensnaring. 
Enthroned  in  her  een,  he  delivers  his  law; 

And  still  to  her  charms  she  alone  is  a  stranger, 
Her  modest  demeanor's  the  jewel  of  a'. 

DOWN   THE    BURN,   DAVIE. 

As  down  the  bnrn  they  took  their  way 

And  thro'  the  flowery  dale, 
His  cheek  to  hers  he  aft  did  lay, 

And  love  was  aye  the  tale. 
■ '  0,  Mary,  when  shall  we  return 

Sic  pleasure  to  renew  ?" 
Quoth  Mary,  "Love,  I  like  the  burn, 

And  aye  shall  follow  you." 

A  BIT  OF  ADVICE. 

Deluded  swain,  the  pleasure 

The  fickle  Fair  can  give  thee 
Is  but  a  fairy  treasure  — 

Thy  hopes  will  soon  deceive  thee. 


253 

The,  billows  on  the  ocean, 

The  breezes  idly  roaming, 
The  clouds'  uncertain  motion — 

They  are  but  types  of  women. 
0!  art  thou  not  ashamed 

To  doat  upon  a  feature  ? 
If  man  thou  wouldst  be  named, 

Despise  the  silly  creature. 
<&o,  find  an  honest  fellow — 

Good  claret  set  before  thee — 
Hold  on  till  thou'rt  mellow — 

And  then  to  bed  in  glory. 

MY    SPOUSE    NANCY. 

Husband,  husband,  cease  your  strife, 

No  longer  idly  rave,  sir; 
Though  I  am  your  wedded  wife, 

Yet  I  am  not  your  slave,  sir. 
"One  of  two  must  still  obey, 

Nancy,  Nancy; 
Is  it  man  or  woman,  say? 

My  spouse  Nancy !" 


254 

"If  it  is  still  the  lordly  word, 

Service  and  obedience ; 
111  desert  my  sovereign  lord — ■ 

And  so,  good  by,  allegiance !" 
"Sad  will  I  be,  so  bereft; 

Nancy,  Nancy! 
Yet  I'll  try  to  make  a  shift, 

My  spouse  Nancy  ! " 
"My  poor  heart,  then  break  it  must, 

My  last  hour  I  am  near  it ; 
When  you  lay  me  in  the  dust, 

Think,  think  how  you  will  bear  it." 

0,  CAN  YE  SEW  CUSHIONS? 

0,  can  ye  sew  cushions  and  can  ye  sew  sheets, 
And  can  ye  sing  bal-lu-loo  when  the  bairn 
greets  f 

And  hee  and  baw  birdie,  and  hee  and  baw  lamb  ! 

And  hee  and  baw  birdie,  my  bonnie  wee  lamb ! 
Hee,  0,  wee !  O,  what  would  I  do  wi '  you ; 
Black  is  the  life  that  I  lead  wi '  you ! 

Money  o '  you — little  for  to  gie  you ! 

Hee,  0,  wee!  O,  what  would  I  do  wi'  you? 


255 
WOMAN,  COMPLAIN   NOT! 

Let  not  woman  e'er  complain 

Of  inconstancy  in  love ; 
Let  not  woman  e'er  complain 

Fickle  man  is  apt  to  rove. 

Look  abroad  through  Nature's  range- 
Nature's  mighty  law  is  change; 

Ladies,  would  it  not  be  strange, 

Man  should  then  a  monster  prove? 

Mark  the  winds  and  mark  the  skies, 
Ocean's  ebb  and  ocean's  flow; 

Sun  and  moon  but  set  to  rise — 
Round  and  round  the  seasons  go. 

Why,  then,  ask  of  silly  man 
To  oppose  great  Nature's  plan? 
"We'll  be  constant  while  we  can — 
You  can  be  no  more,  you  know. 


256 
JENNIE. 

The  following  was  written  to  Jean 
Jeffrey,  daughter  of  a  minister,  who 
afterward  became  Mrs.  Renwick,  and 
emigrated  to  New  York  with  her  hus- 
band: 

When  first  I  saw  fair  Jennie's  face 

I  couldna  tell  what  ailed  me; 
My  heart  went  fluttering  pit-a-pat — 

My  een,  they  almost  failed  me. 
She's  aye  sae  neat,  sae  trim,  sae  tight 

All  grace  does   'round  her  hover, 
Ae  look  deprived  me  o'  my  heart 

And  I  became  a  lover. 

Had  I  Dundas'  whole  estate 

Or  Hopetown's  wealth  to  shine  in — 

Did  warlike  laurels  crown  my  brow 
Or  humbler  bays  entwining — 

I'd  lay  them  a'  at  Jennie's  feet, 
Could  I  but  hope  to  move  her 


257 

And  prouder  than  a  belted  knight, 

I  'd  be  my  Jennie 's  lover. 
But  sair  I  fear  some  happier  swain 

Has  gained  sweet  Jennie's  favor; 
If  so,  may  every  bliss  be  hers, 

Tho'  I  maun  never  have  her. 
But  gang  she  east  or  gang  she  west, 

Twixt  Forth  and  Tweed  all  over, 
While  men  have  eyes,  or  ears,  or  taste 

She  '11  always  find  a  lover. 

The  poet  one  day  was  taking  a  ride 
through  the  country  on  horseback  and 
when  he  got  to  the  town  of  Carlisle  be- 
came thirsty  and  stopped  at  a  tavern 
for  a  drink.  He  tethered  his  horse  out- 
side in  the  village  green  where  it  was 
espied  by  the  poundmaster,  who  took  it 
to  the  pound.  When  Burnsie  came  out 
he  was  mad  clear  through  and  this  is 
what  he  wrote : 

Was  e'er  puir  poet  sae  befitted? 

The  maister  drunk — the  horse  committed, 


258 

Puir  harmless  beast,  tak  thee  nae  care, 

Thou 'It  be  a  horse  when  he's  nae  mair  (mare). 

Andrew  Turner  was  not  highly  ap- 
preciated by  the  poet,  if  we  may  judge 
from  the  following: 

In  seventeen  hundred  and  forty-nine 
Satan  took  stuff  to  make  a  swine 

And  cuist  ft  in  a  corner ; 
But  wilely  he  changed  his  plan 
And  shaped  it  something  like  a  man 

And  called  it  Andrew  Turner. 

A  MOTHER'S  ADDRESS  TO  HER  INFANT. 

My  blessing  upon  thy  sweet  wee  lippie, 
My  blessing  upon  thy  bonnie  e  'e  brie ! 

Thy  smiles  are  sae  like  my  blithe  sodger  laddie 
Thou's  aye  the  dearer  and  dearer  to  me. 

NATIONAL  THANKSGIVING  ON  A  NAVAL 
VICTORY. 

Ye  hypocrites !  are  these  your  pranks, 
To  murder  men  and  gi'e  God  thanks? 


259 

For  shame  gi'e  o'er!  proceed  no  further — 
God  won't  accept  your  thanks  for  murther. 

TO  FOLLY. 

The  graybeard,  Old  Wisdom,  may  boast  of  his 

treasures — 
Give  me  with  gay  Folly  to  live ; 
Grant  him  calm-blooded,  time-settled  pleasures 
But  Folly  has  raptures  to  give. 

TO  LORD  GALLOWAY. 

What  dost  thou  in  that  mansion  fair? 

Flit,  Galloway,  and  find 
Some  narrow,  dirty  dungeon  cave, 

The  picture  of  thy  mind ! 

No  Stewart  art  thou,  Galloway — 

The  Stewarts  all  were  brave ; 
Besides,  the  Stewarts  were  but  fools, 

Not  one  of  them  a  knave. 


260 

Bright  ran  thy  line,  0  Galloway ! 

Through  many  a  far-famed  sire; 
So  ran  the  far-famed  Roman  way — 

So  ended — in  a  mire  I 

Spare  me  thy  vengeance,  Galloway — 

In  quiet  let  me  live ; 
I  ask  no  kindness  at  thy  hand, 

For  thou  hast  none  to  give. 

The  poet  subscribed  for  a  paper 
which  he  didn't  receive  regularly,  so  he 
told  the  editor  about  it  in  this  fashion : 


Dear  Peter,  dear  Peter, 
We  poor  sons  of  meter 

Are  aften  negleckit,  ye  ken; 

For  instance,  your  sheet,  man, 
Tho'  glad  I'm  to  see  it,  man, 

I  get  no  ae  day  in  ten. 


261 

HONEST  POVERTY. 

Is  there  for  honest  poverty, 

That  hangs  its  head  and  a'  that; 
The  coward  slave,  we  pass  him  by, 

"We  dare  be  poor  for  a'  that; 
For  a'  that  and  a'  that! 

Our  toil's  obscure  and  a'  that, 
The  rank  is  but  the  guinea 's  stamp 

The  man 's  the  gowd  for  a '  that. 

What  though  on  hamely  fare  we  dine 

Wear  hoddin  grey  and  a '  that ; 
Give  fools  their  silks  and  knaves  their  wine 

A  man 's  a  man  for  a '  that ! 
For  a '  that  and  a '  that, 

Their  tinsel  show  and  a '  that ; 
The  honest  man,  though  e'er  sae  poor, 

Is  king  o'  men  for  a'  that! 

Ye  see  yon  birkie,  ca'd  a  lord, 

Wha'  struts  and  stares  and  a'  that? 

Though  hundreds  worship  at  his  word, 
He's  but  a  coof  for  a'  that; 


262 

For  a'  that  and  a'  that; 

His  riband,  star  and  a'  that, 
The  man  of  independent  mind 

He  looks  and  laughs  at  a'  that ! 

A  prince  can  mak'  a  belted  knight, 

A  marquis,  duke  and  a'  that; 
But  an  honest  man's  aboon  his  might — 

Guid  faith  he  maunna  fa'  that; 
For  a'  that  and  a'  that, 

Their  dignities  and  a'  that. 
The  pith  o'  sense,  and  pride  o'  worth, 

Are  higher  ranks  than  a'  that. 

Then  let  us  pray  that  come  it  may, 

As  come  it  will  for  a'  that, 
That  sense  and  worth,  o'er  a'  the  earth 

May  bear  the  gree,  and  a'  that! 
For  a'  that  arid  a'  that 

It's  coming  yet  for  a'  that, 
That  man  to  man,  the  warld  o'er, 

Shall  brothers  be  for  a'  that. 


263 


Here  are  a  few  facts  concerning  the 
personal  and  family  history  of  the  poet : 

His  father's  name  was  William  Bur- 
ness,  and  was  born  November  11,  1721, 
at  Clockenhill,  Scotland.  I  suppose  that 
Burness  was  the  old-fashioned  way  of 
spelling  Burns,  hence  the  difference  in 
the  names  of  the  son  and  father.  The 
poet's  name  was  Robert  Burns  and  the 
father's  William  Burness,  or  Burns. 

His  mother's  name  was  Agnes  Brown 
and  she  was  born  in  the  Carrick  dis- 
trict, Scotland,  March  17,  1732. 

Robert  Burns,  the  great  poet,  was 
born  January  25,  1759,  and  died  July 
21,  1796,  being  therefore  not  thirty- 
eight  years  of  age  at  the  time  of  his 
death.  He  was  the  eldest  of  seven  chil- 
dren who  were  named  consecutively 
Robert,  Gilbert,  Agnes,  Arabella,  Wil- 
liam, John  and  Isabel. 

The  wife  of  the  poet,  as  I  have  pre- 


264 


viously  stated  in  this  volume,  was  Jean 
Armour,  and  she  was  born  at  Mauch- 
line  in  1763  and  died  at  Dumfries  in 
1834.  She  survived  the  poet  many 
years  and  died  at  the  ripe  old  age  of 
71.  She  was  a  national  character  and 
was  made  much  of,  as  was  everyone 
else  intimately  or  even  remotely  con- 
nected with  the  National  Bard.  This 
is  the  reward  of  greatness,  and  thus  any 
man  or  woman  who  achieves  honorable 
greatness,  leaves  distinction  behind 
them  and  throws  a  halo  of  glory  over 
those  with  whom  they  have  been  con- 
nected or  associated. 

The  following  children  were  born  to 
the  great  poet  and  his  wife : 

Twins  in  1786.    The    boy,    Robert, 
lived,  but  the  girl  died  in  infancy. 

Twins  in  1788.  Both  died  in  infancy. 

Francis  Wallace  died  at  the  age  of 
14. 

William  Nicol,  born  in  1791. 


265 


Elizabeth  Riddell,  born  in  1792.  Died 
at  the  age  of  two  years. 

James  Glencairne,  born  in  1794,  died 
in  1865. 

Maxwell,  born  in  1796,  died  at  the 
age  of  two. 

It  will  be  seen  that  the  poet  was  the 
father  of  quite  a  number  of  children, 
some  of  whom  lived  to  a  ripe  old  age. 
Whether  he  was  the  father  of  any  more 
children  I  am  sure  I  don't  know.  If 
he  was,  almost  any  Scot  will  know  it 
and  can  tell  you  more  about  it  than  I 
can.  Bobbie  was  a  very  handsome  man 
and  was  greatly  admired  by  almost 
everyone,  including  the  ladies.  Some  of 
his  poems  would  lead  one  to  believe  that, 
like  Byron, 

He  was  unskilled  to  cozen, 

And  shared  his  love  among  a  dozen. 

but  that  may  be  mere  poetic  license. 


266 


Poets,  you  know,  have  an  eye  for  the 
beautiful,  whether  it  be  in  landscape 
scenery,  flowers,  architecture,  painting, 
statuary,  the  human  form  or  what  not. 
At  any  rate  "Puir  Rabbie"  was  the  dad- 
dy of  the  children  whose  names  I  have 
given,  for  that  is  a  matter  of  history. 
To  show  that  the  poet  loved  a  joke  him- 
self, no  matter  on  what  subject,  I  here 
quote  a  little  rhyme  of  his  gotten  off  on 
a  friend  named  James  Smith  who  lived 
at  Mauchline : 

Lament  him,  Mauchline  husbands  a' 

He   aften   did   assist   ye; 
For  had  ye  stayed  whole  weeks  awa' 

Your  wTives  they  n'er  had  missed  ye. 

In  my  short  career  I  have  run  up 
against  lots  of  folks  who  cannot  take  a 
joke  or  see  the  point  of  one  and  these 
poor  people  I  pity,  but  do  not  blame,  for 
they  were  born  that  way.  I  have  always 
been  poor  but  never  proud  and  could 


267 


take  a  joke — that  is,  when  I  could  see 
the  point  of  it.  When  I  couldn't  see  the 
point  of  it  I  did  not  get  angry. 

Burnsie  was  a  farmer  and  lived  on 
ranches  the  most  of  his  life.  He  was  a 
hayseed  from  way  back  but  as  soon  as 
he  got  celebrated  high  society  began  to 
run  after  him  and  the  poor  fellow  could- 
n't keep  away  from  it  if  he  tried.  It 
didn't  take  him  long  to  learn  how  to 
make  a  bow  without  upsetting  the  table, 
but  he  was  out  of  his  element  among 
the  grand  folks.  Did  he  need  polish  to 
make  him  shine?  I  trow  not.  Wasn't 
his  genius  just  as  great  before  he  struck 
society?  Sure !  But  just  to  please  folks 
he  hobnobbed  with  them  though  he  was 
as  much  out  of  his  element  as  a  fish 
when  out  of  water.  No  doubt  he  wore 
a  biled  shirt  and  black  claw-hammer 
coat  and  made  his  coat  tails  fly  around 
pretty  lively  as  he  skipped  around  in  a 


268 

dance,  but  as  society  wanted  him  it  got 
him.  Had  he  lived  long  enough  he 
might  have  been  a  baron,  marquis,  duke 
or  count.  Who  can  tell?  While  a  plow- 
man he  scorned  titles,  but  I  wonder 
whether  he  would  have  rejected  a  pat- 
ent of  nobility  had  it  been  tendered  him. 
Genius  is  a  complex  quality.  Samuel 
Smiles  in  his  great  work,  "Self  Help," 
says  that  genius  is  nothing  more  nor 
less  than  a  capacity  for  taking  infinite 
pains,  and  the  world  in  general  seems 
to  have  accepted  his  definition  or  ex- 
planation, but  I,  Windy  Bill,  an  un- 
tutored savage  from  the  Wild  West,  beg 
to  differ  wholly  from  Sam  and  I  will 
"show  you"  why,  and  permit  you  to 
judge  for  yourself.  Had  Samuel  de- 
fined art  instead  of  genius  as  "an  in- 
finite capacity  for  taking  pains"  he 
might  have  been  nearer  the  truth.  Let 
us  take  the  case  of  Burns.    While  plow- 


269 


ing  he  wrote  rhymes,  but  as  he  knew 
little  or  nothing  of  the  art  of  versifica- 
tion he  set  his  thoughts  in  mellifluous 
language  of  his  own.  Was  it  his 
thoughts  or  their  setting  that  captivat- 
ed people?  His  thoughts,  of  course, 
though  the  jingle  made  them  more  har- 
monious. Genius  is  the  thought;  art 
the  setting.  Tell  me  then  that  genius 
is  a  capacity  for  taking  pains.  Nary 
time.  It  comes  forth  spontaneous,  nat- 
ural, can't  help  itself.  It  is  a  God-given 
quality  which  lots  of  people  possess  to 
a  greater  or  less  degree.  Musicians 
have  it,  as  have  painters,  architects, 
writers,  sculptors  and  people  in  all 
walks  of  life.  Lots  of  poets  in  Scotland 
had  genius  long  before  our  great  friend 
Rabbie  was  born,  and  lots  since  them 
have  had  more  or  less  of  a  share  of  the 
"divine  afflatus,"  as  some  writers  call 
it,  but  were  any  of  them  gifted  as  high- 


270 


ly  as  Puir  Rabbie?  Not  a  one.  Will 
another  like  him  arise?  Search  me! 
There  hasn't  yet. 

Notwithstanding  that  Rabbie  was  so 
highly  gifted,  he  didn't  know  it.  Don't 
you  believe  me?  If  you  don't  you  needn't 
take  my  word  for  it,  for  I  have  evidence 
here  that  will  prove  it.  I  quote  the  pre- 
face that  he  wrote  to  the  first  book  of 
his  that  ever  was  printed.    Here  it  is : 

"The  following  trifles  are  not  the  production  of 
the  poet,  who,  with  all  the  advantages  of  learned 
art  and  perhaps  amid  the  elegancies  and  idleness 
of  upper  life  looks  clown  for  a  rural  theme  with  an 
eye  to  Theocritus  or  Virgil.  Unacquainted  with  the 
necessary  requisites  for  commencing  poetry  by  rule. 
he  sings  the  sentiments  and  manners  he  felt  and 
saw  in  himself  and  his  rustic  compeers  around  him, 
in  his  and  their  native  language.  Though  a  rhymer 
from  his  earlier  years  it  was  not  till  very  lately  that 
the  applause  (perhaps  the  partiality)  of  friend- 
ship awakened  his  vanity  so  as  to  make  him  think 
anything  of  his  worth  showing,  for  none  of  the 
poems  were  composed  with  a  view  to  the  press. 
To  amuse  himself  with  the  little  creations  of  his 


271 


own  fancy  amid  the  toil  and  fatigue  of  a  laborious 
life,  these  were  his  motives  for  courting  the  muses. 
Now  that  he  appeal's  in  the  public  character  of  an 
author,  he  does  it  with  fear  and  trembling.  So 
dear  is  fame  to  the  rhyming  tribe  that  even  he, 
an  obscure,  nameless  bard,  shrinks  aghast  at  the 
thought  of  being  branded  as  an  impertinent  block- 
head, obtruding  his  nonsense  on  the  world;  and 
because  he  can  make  shift  to  jingle  a  few  doggerel 
Scottish  rhymes  together,  looking  upon  himself  as 
a  poet  of  no  small  consequence,  forsooth !  If  any 
critic  catches  at  the  word  Genius,  the  author  tells 
him,  once  for  all,  that  he  certainly  looks  upon  him- 
self as  possessed  of  some  poetic  abilities,  other- 
wise the  publishing,  in  the  manner  he  has  done,* 
would  be  a  maneuver  below  the  worst  character  his 
worst  enemy  will  ever  give  him.  But  to  the  genius 
of  an  Allan  Ramsay  or  a  Robert  Ferguson  he  has 
not  the  least  pretension,  nor  ever  had,  even  in  his 
highest  pulse  of  vanity.  These  two  justly  ad- 
mired Scottish  poets  he  has  often  had  in  his  eye 
but  rather  to  kindle  in  their  flame  than  for  servile 
imitation. 

"To  his  subscribers  the  author  returns  his  most 
sincere  thanks — not  the  mercenary  bow  over  a 
counter,  but  the  heart-throbbing  gratitude  of  the 
bard,  conscious  how  much  he  owes  to  benevolence 
and   friendship   for  gratifying   him,   if   he   deserves 


272 


it,  in  that  dearest  wish  of  every  poetic  bosom — to 
be  distinguished.  He  begs  his  readers,  particularly 
the  learned  and  the  polite  who  may  honor  him  with 
a  perusal,  that  they  will  make  every  allowance  for 
education  and  circumstances  of  life;  but  if,  after 
a  fair,  candid  and  impartial  criticism  he  shall 
stand  convicted  of  dullness  and  nonsense  let  him 
be  done  by  as  he  would  in  that  case  do  by  others — 
let  him  be  condemned  without  mercy,  to  contempt 
and  oblivion.' ' 

It  is  a  queer  fact  that  those  mortals 
who  possessed  the  greatest  genius  were 
always  the  most  simple  and  diffident, 
and  dubious  about  their  own  powers. 
They  had  a  feeling  in  them  that  they 
were  born  to  soar  but  they  were  hesitat- 
ing, doubtful  and  did  not  know  their 
very  simplicity  was  a  part  of  their 
greatness.  They  didn't  appreciate  their 
own  capacities  at  first  any  more  than 
are  their  capabilities  appreciated  by 
less  gifted  mortals.  Before  Burns'  time 
Allan  Ramsay  and  Robert  Ferguson 
were  looked  upon  as  the  greatest  poets 


273 


Scotland  nad  ever  produced,  and  so 
great  were  they  that  even  Burns  looked 
upon  them  with  awe ;  and  yet,  unknown 
to  himself,  he  was  far  greater  than 
they.  His  generation  may  not  have 
known  it,  but  this  generation  does.  Was 
Shakespeare  appreciated  in  his  genera- 
tion? He  was  not.  Was  any  truly  great 
man?    Hardly. 

The  earliest  book  of  Burns  that  ever 
was  put  in  print  consisted  of  his  minor 
poems  which  were  written  while  he  was 
•in  the  fields  plowing. 

Of  course  he  wasn't  plowing  always, 
so  some  were  written  while  he  was  out- 
doors, here,  there  and  everywhere  in  the 
vicinity  of  his  country  home.  They  were 
put  into  book-form  by  the  advice  of  his 
friends  and  John  Wilson  at  Kilmar- 
nock, was  the  man  who  volunteered  to 
do  the  printing.  The  book  was  a  thin 
one,  about  half  as  thick  as  the  ordinary 


274 

novel  of  to-day,  and  it  was  agreed  that 
only  612  books  be  struck  off  as  a  first 
edition.  Mr.  John  Wilson  was  a  long- 
headed printer  and  would  not  agree  to 
print  a  single  volume  until  at  least  300 
of  the  books  had  been  subscribed  for  be- 
forehand. He  figured  it  out  this  way : 
"Suppose  the  book  fails,  where  do  I  get 
off  at?  I  set  it  up  in  type,  do  the  bind- 
ing, furnish  the  paper,  pay  the  devil  and 
the  compositors,  do  the  press  work, 
make-up  and  all,  so  can  I  afford  to  take 
all  the  chances  of  getting  any  money  out 
of  this  blooming  poetry?"  Mr.  Wilson 
was  a  canny  Scot  and  didn't  propose  to 
take  any  chances.  He  surely  didn't  lose 
anything  in  this  venture,  but  whether 
he  made  anything  I  am  unable  to  say. 

Now,  all  of  this  is  a  very  imperfect 
sketch  of  my  old  pard  Burnsie,  and  if 
you  care  to  know  more  about  him  I  can 
refer  you  to  quite  a  few  biographies 


275 


that  have  been  written  about  him  and 
are  still  being  written  about  him  by  the 
score  to  this  day.  No  less  a  personage 
than  Sir  Walter  Scott  has  written  a  life 
history  of  him  and  so  has  the  poet's  own 
brother,  Gilbert.  Here  is  a  list  you  can 
choose  from : 

Appeared 

1.  Robert  Heron    (Life  of  Burns) 1797 

2.  Dr.  James  Currie  (Life  and  Works,  4  vols.  1800 
Works  and  Sketch  of  Life) 1804 

3.  James  Stover  and  John  Grieg  (Illustrated) 

4.  Robert     Hartley     Cromek      (Reliques     of 
Burns)     - 1808 

5.  Lord  Francis  Jeffrey  (Edinburgh  Review)  .1808 
(3.     Sir  Walter  Scott    (Quarterly  Review) 1808 

7.  Dr.  David  Irving  (Life  of  Burns) 1810 

8.  Prof.    Josiah    Walker    (Life    and    Poems, 

2  vols)     1811 

9.  Rev.  Hamilton  Paul   (Life  and  Poems) ..  .1819 

10.  Gilbert    Burns    1820 

11.  Hugh    Ainslie     (Pilgrimage    to    the    Land 

of    Burns)     1822 

12.  Archibald  Constable      (Life     and     Works, 

3  vols) ...1823 


276 

13.  Alex.  Peterkin  (Life  and  Works,  4  vols) .  .1824 

14.  John  G.  Lockhart  (Life  of  Burns) 1828 

15.  Thomas  Carlyle   (Edinburgh  Review) 1828 

16.  Allan     Cunningham      (Life     and     Works, 

8   vols)     , 1834 

17.  James     Hogg     and     William     Motherwell 
(Memiors  and  Works,  5  vols.) 1854 

18.— Prof.  John  Wilson  (Essay  on  Genius) ...  .1840 

19.  W.    C.    McLehose    (Correspondence) 1843 

20.  Samuel  Tyler  (Burns  as  a  Poet  and  Man)  .1849 

21.  Robert  Chambers  (Life  and  Works) 1851 

22.  George    Gilfillan     (Memoirs     and    Works, 

2   vols) 1856 

23.  Rev.  James  White   (Burns  and  Scott) 1858 

24.  Rev.  P.  H.  Waddell  (Life  and  Works) . . .  .1859 

25.  William  Michael  (Life  and  Works) 1871 


CHAPTER  XV. 
SIR  WALTER  SCOTT. 
Although  Robert  Burns  is  the  idol  of 
the  Scotch  people  nowadays,  it  must  not 
be  supposed  that  he  is  the  only  one  wor- 
shipped, for  there  is  another  man  who  is 


277 


greatly  revered,  honored  and  loved. 
This  man  is  Sir  Walter  Scott.  The 
Scotch  people  affectionately  call  him  Sir 
Walter  and  he  did  as  much  for  his  coun- 
try as  did  Puir  Rabbie.  Both  were 
Scotch  to  the  backbone  and  loved  their 
country  as  fondly  and  devotedly  as  any 
patriot  can,  but  in  their  work  they  were 
totally  dissimilar.  Sir  Walter  started 
out  as  a  writer  of  ballads,  and  chose  for 
his  themes  historical  subjects,  mainly 
those  connected  with  the  ancient  and 
modern  history  of  his  country.  Burns, 
as  I  said  before,  remodeled  and  im- 
proved the  old  Scotch  folk  songs  and  in 
his  democratic  way  described  life 
around  him  in  tuneful  periods.  Had  he 
not  been  cut  off  in  the  flower  of  his 
prime  he,  too,  might  have  been  a  great 
novelist  for  his  great  genius  was  capable 
of  anything.  He  sprang  from  the 
masses  and  his  heart   was   with   the 


278 


masses,  but  Sir  Walter,  who  came  from 
the  classes  had  a  heart  for  all,  and  de- 
scribed the  lowly  and  humble  as  well  as 
the  great.  Sir  Walter's  delineations  of 
human  character  stand  unrivalled  to- 
day. He  surely  was  proud  of  the  fact 
that  he  was  of  gentle  birth,  which  well 
he  might  have  been,  for  that  was  no 
disgrace  to  him,  any  more  than  it  is  dis- 
graceful to  be  of  lowly  birth,  although 
in  the  old  country  blood  counts  for 
something.  To  show  what  Sir  Walter 
thought  of  himself  I  here  quote  an  ex- 
tract from  one  of  his  works  which  he 
wrote  himself: 

"My  birth  was  neither  distinguished  nor  sordid. 
According'  to  the  prejudices  of  my  country,  it  was 
esteemed  gentle,  as  I  am  connected,  thoug'h  re- 
motely, with  ancient  families  both  by  my  father's 
and  mother's  side.  My  father's  grandfather  was 
Walter  Scott,  well  known  by  the  name  of  Beardie. 
He  was  the  second  son  of  Walter  Scott,  first  lord 
of  Raeburn,  who  was  the  third  son  of  Sir  Walter 


279 


Scott  and  the  grandson  of  Walter  Scott,  commonly 
called  in  tradition  Auld  Watt  of  Harden.  I  am 
therefore  lineally  descended  from  that  chieftain, 
whose  name  I  have  made  to  ring  in  many  a  ditty, 
and  from  his  fair  dame,  the  Flower  of  Yarrow,  no 
bad  genealogy  for  a  Border  Minstrel." 

Well,  my  poor  friend  Rabbie  didn't 
spring  from  any  border  minstrel,  but  he 
was  a  born  minstrel  himself  and  could 
concoct  a  tune  with  the  best  of  them. 
Mind  you,  I  am  not  decrying  Sir  Wal- 
ter, for  that  would  be  sacrilege,  but 
Burnsie  had  nothing  to  brag  of  in  the 
way  of  ancestry.  Would  Sir  Walter 
have  been  less  great  had  he  sprung  from 
common  stock  or  would  Robbie  have 
been  greater  had  he  been  blue-blooded? 
I  am  an  American,  an  ex-member  of 
Coxey's  unwashed  army,  so  I  don't  want 
to  say  yes  or  nay  to  this  question.  Let 
others  decide. 

Sir  Walter's  earliest  success  as  a 
writer  was  won  by  discarding  the  con- 


280 


ventionalities  of  art  and  creating  a 
style  of  art  his  own.  It  takes  a 
genius  to  do  that.  His  style 
was  simple,  plain,  and  direct  and 
won  followers  very  quickly  because  it 
gained  favor.  This  goes  to  show  that  if 
one  has  anything  to  s^y  it  is  not  neces- 
sary to  say  it  in  involved  language,  but 
just  simply.  Sir  Walter's  good  common 
sense  told  him  this  was  the  fact  and  he 
acted  accordingly.  To  say  the  honest 
truth  some  of  Sir  Walter's  novels  here 
and  there  are  a  little  prolix,  but  there 
was  a  reason  for  it.  Sir  Walter 
was  getting  paid  for  space-writ- 
ing. You  don't  believe  me?  I'll 
prove  it.  He  went  broke  and  to 
pay  his  debts — or  rather  those  of  the 
publishing  house  he  unfortunately  was 
connected  with — he  ground  out  "copy" 
as  fast  as  he  could,  for  every  word  of 
his  was  worth  money.    He  begged  his 


281 


financial  friends  not  to  treat  him  like  "a 
milch  cow"  but  like  a  man,  but  as  he 
was  a  money-maker  they  staid  with  him 
until  all  his  money  and  property  were 
gone  and  all  he  could  earn  until  he  died 
was  swallowed  up,  too.  His  was  another 
case  like  General  Ulysses  Simpson 
Grant. 

Sir  Walter  was  the  ninth  child  in  a 
very  large  family.  His  father  was  a 
methodical  and  industrious  lawyer,  and 
his  mother  a  woman  of  much  culture, 
refinement  and  imagination. 

Of  delicate  health  and  lame  from  his 
second  year,  Sir  Walter  spent  much  of 
his  childhood  in  the  co.untry  with  his 
relatives.  At  the  fireside  of  neighbors 
he  listened  to  the  old  ballads  and  stories 
of  border  warfare,  which  caused  him  at 
a  very  early  age  to  acquire  a  taste  for 
reading  ancient  history  and  to  become 
imbued  with  a  love  for  antiquarian  re- 


282 


search.  When  seven  years  of  age  he 
entered  the  High  School  of  Edinburgh 
and  attended  it  until  twelve.  When 
thirteen  he  entered  the  University  of 
Edinburgh  and  decided  on  the  profes- 
sion of  law.  At  the  age  of  21  he  was 
admitted  to  the  bar.  He  didn't  like  his 
profession,  however,  and  spent  much  of 
his  time  in  antiquarian  research.  When 
about  26  years  of  age  he  married  Char- 
lotte Margaret  Carpenter,  the  daughter 
of  a  French  Royalist,  whose  family  af- 
ter the  death  of  the  father  had  removed 
to  England.  Sir  Walter  and  his  wife 
lived  first  at  Edinburgh  and  three  years 
later  rented  a  cottage  at  Lasswade. 
They  remained  at  Lasswade  six  years 
and  then  took  up  their  abode  at  Ashes- 
tiel.  In  1799,  when  about  28  years  of 
age,  Sir  Walter  was  made  Deputy  Sher- 
iff of  Selkirkshire  to  which  was  at- 
tached a  salary  of  $1,500  per  annum, 


283 


and  seven  years  afterward  he  was  ap- 
pointed a  Clerk  of  Session  with  a  salary 
of  $3,500.  He  held  down  both  jobs  for 
25  years,  which  proved  he  was  a  stayer. 
As  his  income  was  $5000  for  25  years 
it  can  be  figured  out  about  how  much 
he  earned.  But  Sir  Walter  wasn't  a 
money-saver;  he  was  a  spender  and  a 
good  provider.  He  kept  open  house  and 
anyone  who  called  received  an  old-fash- 
ioned Scotch  welcome,  and  I  know  from 
my  sojourn  in  Scotland  what  that 
means.  It  means  you're  welcome  to 
stay  or  welcome  to  go,  but  while  you  do 
stay  the  best  is  none  too  good  for  you. 
Sir  Walter's  hospitality  was  of  that  sort 
and  while  holding  down  both  jobs  he 
was  doing  a  little  literary  work  on  the 
side.  First  came  ballads,  then  poems 
of  romance  and  later  novels.  He  was 
getting  along  first  rate  financially  so  he 
concluded  to  take  up  his  residence  at 


284 

Abbottsford,  a  palatial  mansion.  By 
this  time  he  had  already  gained  fame 
and  much  lucre  and  was  run  after  by 
the  "hoi-polloi,"  the  "would-be  could- 
be's"  and  the  Great.  The  doors  of  Ab- 
bottsford opened  wide  for  all.  Even  the 
poor  were  given  "a  hand-out"  of  some 
kind.  Too  bad  Billy  and  me  wasn't  alive 
then.  But  this  was  before  our  time, 
about  a  hundred  years  or  so.  Oh  what 
a  place  for  grafters  Abbottsford  must 
have  been!  Sir  Walter  was  easy.  So 
easy  was  he,  in  fact,  that  the  publishing 
house  of  Ballantyne  &  Co.,  which  roped 
him  in  as  a  side  partner,  went  flewy 
and  left  Sir  Walter  to  foot  all  the  bills. 
Sir  Walter  was  an  honorable  man  and 
prized  honor  above  wealth,  so  he  turned 
over  everything  he  had,  including  Ab- 
bottsford, to  the  alleged  creditors,  but 
there  was  not  enough  to  satisfy  claims. 
The  debt  amounted  to  several  hundred 


285 


thousand  dollars.  Thereupon  he  contin- 
ued writing  novels  and  wrote  as  he 
never  wrote  before.  He  ground  out  ten 
novels  in  six  years  and  had  paid  up 
about  $200,000,  when  his  health  began 
to  fail.  The  pace  was  too  swift  for  a 
man  sixty  years  of  age,  which  he  was 
then.  The  creditors  were  insatiable  and 
were  greedy  for  the  last  farthing.  Busi- 
ness is  business,  said  they. 

When  a  little  over  sixty  years  of  age 
Sir  Walter  had  a  stroke  of  paralysis 
caused  by  overwork  and  worry,  and  was 
recommended  by  his  physicians  to  take 
a  sea  voyage.  He  embarked  for  Italy  in 
a  frigate  which  was  placed  at  his  dis- 
posal by  the  English  government,  but 
sad  to  relate,  the  trip  benefited  him  but 
little.  He  visited  Rome,  Venice  and 
other  places,  but  came  home  a  few 
months  afterward  to  die.  "Man's  in- 
humanity to  man"  killed  Sir  Walter  be- 
fore his  time. 


286 


Sir  Walter's  manner  was  that  of  a 
gentleman  and  he  was  amiable,  unaf- 
fected and  polished.  He  was  simple  and 
kindly  and  approachable  by  all.  Much 
of  his  literary  work  was  done  at  Ashes- 
tiel,  but  more  at  Abbottsford.  He  kept 
open  house  everywhere.  He  arose  at 
five  o'clock  in  the  morning  and  wrote 
until  eight  o'clock.  He  then  breakfast- 
ed with  his  family  and  after  putting  in 
an  hour  or  so  with  them  returned  to 
his  writings.  He  worked  until  noon  and 
then  was  his  own  man,  to  do  as  he  liked. 
During  the  afternoon  he  put  in  some 
time  with  his  guests,  gave  reporters  in- 
terviews, was  snap-shotted  by  cameras, 
saw  that  the  dogs  got  enough  to  eat, 
gave  orders  to  the  servants  that  if  too 
many  'bos  came  around  to  sick  the  dogs 
on  them  and  then  he  went  a  horseback 
or  a  carriage  riding.  In  the  evening 
there  was  some  social  chat,  after  which 


287 


Sir  Walter  retired  early.    That  was  the 
routine. 

This  master  in  the  art  of  novel  writ- 
ing was  fully  six  feet  in  height,  well 
proportioned  and  well  built  with  the 
exception  of  a  slight  deformity  in  the 
ankle,  which  I  have  alluded  to  before. 
His  face  was  of  a  Scotch  cast,  heavy 
and  full;  the  forehead  was  high  and 
broad,  the  head  lofty,  the  nose  short, 
the  upper  lip  long,  and  the  expression  of 
his  features  kindly.  I  have  seen  dead 
loads  of  pictures,  images  and  statues  of 
Sir  Walter,  yet  hardly  two  of  them  were 
alike.  I  consider  Sir  Walter  a  hand- 
some man  and  to  me  there  seems  to  be 
something  grand  and  noble  in  the  cast 
of  his  countenance.  I  know  the  light  of 
genius  was  there,  and  maybe  that  is 
why  he  so  impresses  me,  but  with  it  all 
his  features  have  a  noble  cast.  He  is 
goodly  to  look  upon,  surely. 


288 


To  tell  the  truth,  I  don't  read  much 
poetry,  but  some  competent  critic  who 
has  read  Sir  Walter's  has  this  to  say 
of  it: 

"The  distinctive  features  of  the  poetry  of  Scott 
are  ease,  rapidity  of  movement,  a  spirited  flow  of 
narrative  that  holds  our  attention,  an  out-of-door 
atmosphere  and  power  of  natural  description,  an 
occasional  intrusion  of  a  gentle  personal  sadness 
and  but  little  more.  The  subtle  and  mystic  ele- 
ment so  characteristic  of  the  poetry  of  Wordsworth 
and  Coleridge  is  not  to  be  found  in  that  of  Scott, 
while  in  lyrical  power  he  does  not  approach 
Shelley.  We  find  instead  an  intense  sense  of 
reality  in  all  his  natural  descriptions ;  it  surrounds 
them  with  an  indefinable  atmosphere,  because  they 
are  so  transparently  true.  Scott's  first  impulse  in 
the  direction  of  poetry  was  given  to  him  from  the 
study  of  the  German  ballads,  especially  Burger's 
Lenore,  of  which  he  made  a  translation.  As  his 
ideas  widened,  he  wished  to  do  for  Scottish  Border 
life  what  Goethe  had  done  for  the  ancient  feuda- 
lism of  the  Rhine.  He  was  at  first  undecided 
whether  to  choose  prose  or  verse  as  the  medium; 
but  a  legend  was  sent  him  by  the  Countess  of  Dal- 
keith with  a  request  that  he  would  put  it  in  ballad 


289 


form.  Having  thus  the  framework  for  his  purpose, 
he  went  to  work,  and  "The  Lay  of  the  Last  Min- 
strel "  was  the  result.  The  battle  scene  in  Marmion 
has  been  called  the  most  Homeric  passage  in  modern 
literature,  and  his  description  of  the  Battle  of 
Beal  au  Duine  from  "The  Lady  of  the  Lake"  is  an 
exquisite  piece  of  narration  from  the  gleam  of  the 
spears  in  the  thicket  to  the  death  of  Roderick  Dhu 
at  its  close.  In  the  deepest  sense  Scott  is  one  with 
the  spirit  of  his  time  in  his  grasp  of  fact,  in  that 
steadily  looking  at  the  object  which  Wordsworth 
had  fought  for  in  poetry,  which  Carlyle  had  ad- 
vocated in  philosophy.  He  is  allied,  too,  to  that 
broad  sympathy  for  man  which  lay  closest  to  the 
heart  of  the  age's  literary  expression.  Words- 
worth's part  is  to  inspire  an  interest  in  the  lives 
of  men  and  women  about  us;  Scott's  to  enlarge 
the  bounds  of  our  sympathy  beyond  the  present, 
and  to  people  the  silent  centuries.  Shelley's  in- 
spiration is  hope  for  the  future;  Scott's  is  rever- 
ence for  the  past." 

I  have  read  a  few  of  Sir  Walter's 
novels,  and  some  of  them  several  times, 
and  every  time  I  read  them  it  is  with 
renewed  interest.  His  delineation  of 
human  character  is  so  true  to  nature 


290 


and  so  graphic  that  I  feel  the  living, 
s  :eaking  person  before  me  as  I  read..  If 
that  ain't  writing  I  would  like  to  know 
what  is.  Whether  it  be  peasant,  ser- 
vant, knight,  esquire,  king,  lord,  iady 
or  girl,  all  are  shown  up  on  the  screen 
so  plainly  that  I  take  it  all  as  a  matter 
of  course  and  say  nothing.  It  is  all  so 
plain  and  simple  that  there  is  nothing 
to  say.  That  is  art  and  the  highest  form 
of  it.    It  is  next  to  nature. 

Art  and  genius  are  closely  allied.  It 
is  not  everyone  who  loves  the  "alto- 
gether" or  the  "realistic,"  which  may 
be  well.  Were  it  not  so,  many  poets, 
painters,  sculptors,  musicians  and  other 
handicraftsmen  would  be  left  out  in  the 
cold,  witEnone  to  do  him  reverence.  All 
tastes  happily  are  catered  to,  so  every- 
one is  happy. 

As  I  am  neither  a  critic  nor  a  biog- 
rapher I  shall  endeavor  to  give  my  read- 


291 


ers  an  idea  what  Sir  Walter  was 
thought  of  by  others  and  will  quote  the 
language  they  used. 

George  Tichnor,  the  author,  says  that 
Scott  repeated  to  him  the  English  trans- 
lations of  two  long  Spanish  ballads 
which  he  had  never  seen,  but  which  had 
been  read  to  him  twice. 

Scott's  college  friend,  John  Irving,  in 
writing  of  himself  and  Scott,  says: 
"The  number  of  books  we  thus  devoured 
was  very  great.  I  forgot  a  great  part 
of  what  I  read ;  but  my  friend,  notwith- 
standing he  read  with  such  rapidity,  re- 
mained, to  my  surprise,  master  of  it  all, 
and  could  even,  weeks  and  months  af- 
terwards, repeat  a  whole  page  in  which 
anything  had  particularly  struck  him  at 
the  moment,' ' 

Washington  Irving  remarked :  "Dur- 
ing the  time  of  my  visit  he  inclined  to 
the  comic  rather  than  to  the  grave  in  his 


292 


anecdotes  and  stories;  and  such,  I  was 
told,  was  his  general  inclination.  He 
relished  a  joke  or  a  trait  of  humor  in 
social  intercourse,    and   laughed   with 

right  good  will His  humor 

in  conversation,  as  in  his  works,  was 
genial  and  free  from  causticity.  He  had 
a  quick  perception  of  faults  and  foibles, 
but  he  looked  upon  human  nature  with 
an  indulgent  eye,  relishing  what  was 
good  and  pleasant,  tolerating  what  was 
frail  and  pitying  what  was  evil.  .  .  . 
I  do  not  recollect  a  sneer  throughout  his 
conversation,  any  more  than  there  is 
throughout  his  works." 

Lord  Byron  said :  "I  think  that  Scott 
is  the  only  very  successful  genius  that 
could  be  cited  as  being  as  generally  be- 
loved as  a  man  as  he  is  admired  as  an 
author ;  and  I  must  add,  he  deserves  it, 
for  he  is  so  thoroughly  good-natured, 
sincere  and  honest,  that  he  disarms  the 


293 


envy  and  jealousy  his  extraordinary 
genius  must  excite." 

Leslie  Stephen  remarked:  "Scott 
could  never  see  an  old  tower,  or  a  bank, 
or  a  rush  of  a  stream  without  instantly 
recalling  a  boundless  collection  of  ap- 
propriate anecdotes.  He  might  be  quot- 
ed as  a  case  in  point  by  those  who  would 
explain  all  poetical  imagination  by  the 
power  of  associating  ideas.  He  is  the 
poet  of  association." 

Lockhart,  who  married  the  daughter 
of  Sir  Walter  and  who  was  therefore  his 
son-in-law,  wrote  a  biography  of  his 
father-in-law  wherein  he  says  that: 
"The  love  of  his  country  became  indeed 
a  passion ;  no  knight  ever  tilted  for  his 
mistress  more  willingly  than  he  would 
have  bled  and  died  to  preserve  even  the 
airiest  surviving  nothing  of  her  antique 
pretensions  for  Scotland.    But  the  Scot- 


294 


land  of  his  affections  had  the  clan  Scott 
for  her  kernel." 

I  believe  the  son-in-law  is  inclined  to 
be  facetious,  but  is  he  just  to  his  immor- 
tal father-in-law?  I  don't  believe  he  is 
— therefore  his  criticisms  are  not  worth 
a  whoop. 

Thomas  Carlyle,  the  cynical  philoso- 
pher and  mugwump,  condescended  to 
give  Sir  Walter  a  sort  of  recommenda- 
tion of  character,  which  it  renders  me 
extremely  happy  to  quote.  Here  it  is. 
Read  it  carefully  and  ponder : 

"The  surliest  critic  must  allow  that 
Scott  was  a  genuine  man,  which  itself  is 
a  great  matter.  No  affectation,  fantas- 
ticality or  distortion  dwelt  in  him;  no 
shadow  of  cant.  Nay,  withal,  was  he 
not  a  right  brave  and  strong  man  ac- 
cording to  his  kind?  What  a  load  of 
toil,  what  a  measure  of  felicity  he  quiet- 
ly bore  along  with  him!     With   what 


295 


quiet  strength  he  both  worked  on  this 
earth  and  enjoyed  in  it,  invincible  to 
evil  fortune  and  to  good!" 

This  cynic,  this  philosopher,  this  mug- 
wump says  Sir  Walter  was  a  genuine 
man.    Good  for  Mr.  Carlyle. 

Everyone  was  proud  to  call  Sir  Wal- 
ter "friend,"  and  he  was  just  great 
enough  to  be  happy  to  call  those  who 
wera  worthy,  his  friend.  Among  his 
great  friends  were  the  following : 

John  Irving,  who  was  an  intimate 
college  friend.  I  have  quoted  him  in 
regard  to  the  number  of  books  read  by 
Sir  Walter. 

Robert  Burns  came  to  Edinburgh 
when  Sir  Walter  was  fifteen  years  of 
age,  and  Sir,  Walter's  boyish  admira- 
tion for  the  National  Bard  was  great. 
.  In  after  life,  when  Sir  Walter  became 
great,  he  wrote  a  great  deal  concerning 
Puir  Rabbie.    And  it  is  worth  reading. 


296 


James  Ballantyne,  Sir  Walter's  part- 
ner  in  the  publishing  business,  was  a 
good  friend. 

So  was  James  Hogg,  the  poet  peasant, 
sometimes  called  "The  Ettrick  Shep- 
herd." 

And  so  was  Thomas  Campbell,  the 
poet,  author  of  "The  Pleasures  of 
Hope." 

The  poet  William  Wordsworth  was  a 
lifelong  friend. 

Robert  Southey,  the  poet,  visited  Sir 
Walter  at  Ashestiel  and  was  admired 
by  him  greatly. 

Joanna  Baillie,  the  poetess,  was  a 
warm  friend. 

So  was  Lord  Byron. 

Sir  Humphry  Davy,  the  philosopher, 
visited  Sir  Walter  and  was  well  liked 
by  him. 

Goethe,  the  German  poet,  was  a  warm 
admirer  and  friend  of  Sir  Walter. 


297 


So  was  Henry  Hallam,  the  historian ; 
Crabbe,  the  poet;  Maria  Edgeworth, 
the  novelist;  George  Ticknor,  the 
author;  Dugald  Stewart,  Archibald  Ali- 
son, Sydney  Smith,  Lord  Brougham, 
Lord  Jeffrey,  Thomas  Erskine,  William 
Clerk,  Sir  William  Hamilton,  etc.,  etc. 

Last  but  not  least  among  those  who 
regarded  Sir  Walter  as  a  friend  and 
who  were  so  regarded  by  him  was  our 
own  countryman,  Washington  Irving. 
Our  own  "Washy"  was  an  author,  too, 
and  one  not  to  be  sneezed  at.  Sir  Wal- 
ter regarded  him  highly  and  Washy 
dropped  in  on  him,  casual  like,  at  Ab- 
bottsford.  Washy  had  written  some 
good  things  himself,  but  had  found  it 
difficult  to  win  recognition.  Sir  Walter 
stood  sponsor  for  him  and  told  the 
world  it  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  itself 
not  to  recognize  merit  of  so  high  an 
order.     Thereupon  the  world  promptly 


298 


did  recognize  our  Washy.  Did  our 
Washy  need  a  sponsor?  Well,  hardly. 
No  American  ever  lived  who  was  an 
abler  or  more  polished  writer  than  he. 
Will  you  please  show  me  a  man  who  can 
beat  our  Washy.  You  can't  do  it.  Smile 
at  me  if  you  will,  but  I  doubt  if  even 
Sir  Walter  himself  was  so  much  supe- 
rior to  him.  Have  you  read  Irving' s 
Astoria,  a  true  and  lifelike  history  of 
the  Northwest?  or  his  Rip  Van  Winkle, 
or  his  sketches,  the  Alhambra,  etc.? 
Irving's  is  another  case  where  a  great 
man  failed  of  appreciation  at  first. 

Well,  my  countrymen,  our  Washy  is 
dead,  but  we  appreciate  him  now  just 
the  same.  The  United  States  never 
produced  a  writer  more  polished  and 
able  than  he,  and  it  is  rather  humiliat- 
ing to  think  that  a  great  foreigner  had 
to  apprise  us  of  his  merits. 
"To  wind  up  this  chapter  on  Sir  Wal- 


299 


ter  Scott  I  will  give  you  a  list  of  his 
writings,  arranged  in  chronological  or- 
der: 

BALLADS. 
Gfenfinlas,  1799. 
Eve  of  St.  John,  1799. 
The   Grey   Brothers,   1799. 
Border   Minstrelsy,    1802-1803. 
Cadyow  Castle,  1810. 
English  Minstrelsy,  1810. 
Tin-  Battle  of  Sempach,  1818. 
The  Noble  Moringer,  1819. 
The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel,  1805. 
Marmion,  1808. 
The  Lady  of  the  Lake,  1810. 
Vision  of  Don  Roderick,  1811. 
Rokeby,  1812. 

The  Bridal  of  Triermain,  1813. 
The  Lord   of   the   Isles,  1815. 

PROSE  WORKS. 

AVaverley,  1814. 
Guy  Mannering,  1815. 
The  Antiquary,  1816. 
The  Black  Dwarf,  1816. 
Old  Mortality,  1816. 


300 

Rob  Roy,  1818. 

The  Heart  of  Mid-Lothian,  1818. 

The  Bride  of  Lammermoor,  1819. 

The  Legend  of  Montrose,  1819. 

Ivanhoe,  1820, 

The  Monastery,  1820. 

The  Abbott,  1820. 

Kenilworth,  1821. 

The  Pirate,  1822. 

The  Fortunes  of  Nigel,  1822. 

Peveril  of  the  Peak,  1823. 

Quentin  Durward,  1823. 

St.  Ronan's  Well,  1824. 

Red  Gauntlet,  1824. 

The  Betrothed,  1825. 

The  Talisman,  1825. 

Woodstock,  1826. 

The   Two  Drovers,  1827. 

The  Highland  Widow,  1827. 

The  Surgeon's  Daughter,  1827. 

The  Fair  Maid  of  Perth,  1828. 

Anne  of  Geierstein,  1829. 

Count  Robert  of  Paris,  1831. 

Castle  Dangerous,  1831. 


RETURN 
TO—* 

MAIN  CIRCULATION 

ALL  BOOKS  ARE  SUBJECT  TO  RECALL 
RENEW  BOOKS  BY  CALLING  642-3405 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 

SENT  ON  ILL 

JUN  1  4  199 

> 

U.  C.  BERKELE 

Y 

FORM  NO.  DD6 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  BERKF 
BERKELEY,  CA  94720 


YB   12776 


858581 


THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


